Letters from Wolfram
by HARPG0
Summary: Wolfram has changed and Yuuri takes notice.  What is the fire Mazoku trying to say?  Final Chapter and "Extra" up now
1. Chapter 1

Letters from Wolfram

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Chapter 1

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Even though he didn't want to, Yuuri had noticed it during the past few weeks—the way Wolfram was slowly fading into the background, little by little, step by step. He had to admit that, at first, it was a wonderful reprieve. For years, Wolfram had been so possessive of him, so needlessly jealous of anyone who came near. Of anyone who had the potential to win him, to take him away. But now the mood had shifted, considerably.

The blond Mazoku, who had been almost a fixture by his side, was now standing in the back of a little group—bent over like the rest of them, examining an old, yellowing map of Shin Makoku painted on vellum. Unexpectedly, Wolfram glanced up and met eyes with Yuuri. Then, just as quickly, the green eyes narrowed and darted downwards. His jaw was set.

"We've been having problems with bandits along the border…right about here," Gwendal explained, finger tracing a dotted line between their local village's border and that of its neighbor to the west, White River. "If we plan an ambush at this point," he motioned to where a little bridge was drawn in, "we can capture them before more harm can be done."

Wolfram hummed in agreement. "But don't forget. There's the edge of the forest…_here_," the young fire Mazoku pointed. "Just to play it safe, we can position some men and easily cut off their escape route…just when they think they're getting away."

"Yes, we can't have them 'disappearing,' if you know what I mean."

Yuuri blinked curiously at that.

"They've been dressing all in white…as ghosts," Günter went on, "to scare the local populace into submission."

"Thieving ghosts…riding horses?" Wolfram scoffed, a hand on his hip. "Would anyone in this day and age believe that?"

Yuuri smiled wryly and thought of the Headless Horseman.

Conrad scratched his cheek with a finger and asked, "Just curious…Have any of them wielded elements while ransacking and robbing?"

"None," Gwendal answered, "which makes me think that they're human or half human."

"Or very weak Mazoku," Wolfram ventured. He knew very well that some of his kind could never get enough energy together to be any kind of threat. "Regardless, I'd like to have my elite guard investigate and, if possible, deal with these people. We can't have our citizens living in fear." The blond soldier puffed out his chest, straightened his shoulders, and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.

_He looks cute_, Yuuri thought with amusement. And, it was more than admirable to see Wolfram volunteering and doing his best for the sake of others. He'd come a long way since the day they first met.

Conrad folded his arms against his chest, a clear sign to Günter that the older brother was in disagreement. "We've heard stories that these men are wearing glowing red stones around their necks…possibly houseki stones. All of your men are element wielders who would suffer badly should they come up against them."

Wolfram narrowed his green eyes, not liking for one minute being told what to do.

Yuuri sighed openly, in Japanese fashion, but no one took notice. Following that, he tinkered with the idea of stepping into the "would be" fray.

A quick look in Wolfram's direction. He was still ticked.

Yuuri squirmed internally. Should he or shouldn't he jump in? The blond would be furious if he did.

"This is why my men train. I don't live in a fantasy world where I think it isn't possible for my men to come up against houseki stones." He turned his attention to Gwendal and went on. "This will be an excellent opportunity for them to put their 'training' into 'action'…and for me…" He deliberately met eyes with Yuuri this time. "…For me to prove my loyalty to my country…"

The double black groaned, placing a palm over his eyes. This was just too maudlin.

"Look, Wolfram, no one's questioning that." Conrad's enigmatic smile was back. Sometimes, Wolfram found it more than just annoying. It was condescending.

"But, is this really worth your time?" Yes, in the past, Conrad had used that line with him and, lazy loafer that he was back then, he always fell for it. Yet, some little piece of his heart always felt dissatisfied almost to the point of anger. But he was older now—older and wiser.

_A good line, Conrad, but not this time._

"I think it is."

Yuuri tried to find some sort of silver lining to this cloud. "And just how long do you think Wolf will be gone?"

With something akin to a growl, Gwendal leaned over and took in the map again, thinking almost out loud. "Three weeks at most." Then, he spoke to Wolfram without looking at him. "If you haven't engaged with these ruffians by the end of that time, you'll come home. And I'll hear no arguments, got it?"

Wolfram gave a short, respectful bow. "Yes…sir…"

But there was something in the way that Wolfram's smile came to him, a sad sweetness, in getting the assignment—in getting his way. And, Yuuri, for the life of him, couldn't understand what had caused it.

* * *

The polish wasn't perfect, not up to his usual standards. But, he was in a hurry. Wolfram sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his right boot on with a bit of effort.

"Lord von Bielefeld, shall I take the clothes and the bedroll now?" Doria asked as she made her way to collect the last of Wolfram's things. The bedroom door was still open, as was proper, and she had another maid waiting to help.

"Please," he said vaguely. He took his other boot and pulled it on.

The women left just as the double black was coming in. He gave a short wave to them as they passed.

"Are you leaving now?" Yuuri asked brightly. He thought that, maybe, the adventure would be good for Wolfram. Getting out and about would help his mood and attitude. Then, life could return to normal.

"Yes, I'm going."

But, suddenly, a thought occurred to him. "Gosh, Wolf, you really should have said 'so long' to Greta. She'll miss you."

Wolfram stood and smoothed down his blue uniform with even brush strokes. "Yes…well…I did that after we had breakfast." The statement was clear and simple, but an awkward silence filled the room—making the discomfort grow. There was so much that Wolfram wanted to say. And there was so much that couldn't be said. But that was how they always were together.

"Well, uhhh…" Yuuri shifted gracelessly from his right to his left foot. This was their "goodbye," wasn't it? So, why did it have to feel like this? And, then, he sensed it again, Wolfram fading. Could he even stop it if he wanted to?

"Oh, and then there's this…" The blond reached into his inside pocket and took out a piece of dark ivory parchment, folded and sealed with red wax. Gallantly, he held the letter up for Yuuri to see.

"A…_letter_?" Black eyes widened impossibly at it.

Wolfram looked at him directly. His face reflected how strong-minded he could really be. "Yes…for you."

Yuuri could feel his face heat up. _A…love letter. That's what that is, isn't it?_

There had been times at school when he'd accidentally stumbled across a loving couple exchanging notes or diaries. And, on the roof recently, he'd watched a girl with a hopeful expression offer, with reverence, a handwritten letter on pink paper over to the captain of the kendo club.

But that was different. They were different. And Wolfram was…Wolfram.

The blond lowered his head a little. "I wasn't expecting you to take it from me, though." He walked over to the small table closest to his side of the bed. "So, I'll just leave it here." The blond stepped over to the bed and picked up his leather belt, sliding it into the loops and buckling. He noticed that Yuuri's eyes were still riveted on the letter and his face held the ghost of an ill at ease blush. Knowing that, something hurt in Wolfram's chest but he chose to overlook it. "And, Yuuri?"

"Hm?" His tone was distracted. Was he even listening?

"You can open that…" He motioned to the letter. "…if I don't return."

The double black actually blinked in confusion until his mind caught up with the words.

"Oi, wait a minute…" He approached Wolfram with a totally different expression than before and the blush had, mercifully, disappeared. "Are you telling me…that's your will?" Wolfram was too young for a will. They seemed to be about the same age even though, as a full blooded Mazoku, Wolfram was in his mid 80's now.

"No," the blond answered honestly. "My uncle has my will. I had to make one after inheriting my honorable father's estate." Wolfram's voice grew weary now. "That letter is for you…and you only."

"Oh… I see." Actually, he didn't see it at all. But, it was something to say.

Yuuri tried to force a smile, tried to make Wolfram's departure not nearly as cheerless as it was turning out to be. "Aw, come on, Wolf. This is just a three week mission. You'll be back before you know it."

The blond smiled thinly at him as he turned away. "I agree…" And, without another word, Wolfram von Bielefeld left the room.

* * *

For three solid weeks, the simple letter sat on the table, gathering dust, and Yuuri loathed it. During the day, he managed to forget about it thanks to lessons and paperwork and playing catch with Conrad. But, at night, the folded paper sealed in red wax seemed to haunt him. It was a constant reminder that Wolfram had felt the need to say something important to him—in writing—because their spoken words were never enough.

A message…if something went wrong; if he didn't come back.

Yuuri tried rolling onto his side, facing away from Wolfram's part of the bed.

_Ignore._

_Ignore._

_Ignore._

The double black closed his eyes with feelings of regret slowly surfacing. _I'm so good at ignoring things_, he reminded himself. And, by "things," he meant "Wolfram."

But the letter was there—waiting. He hated anything to wait or anyone to. It was the Japanese in him, he decided.

_You can't fight culture_. _Or can you?_ his mind whispered. Accepting Wolfram's feelings for him was one thing. Returning them was another.

The letter was sealed in read wax. Red. Wolfram could wield red fire. And red certainly described his personality until recently.

_But, his glow is fading…isn't it?_ his mind asked again.

So many questions…so few answers…

The letter.

The door opened without a knock, making the letter on the table slide a bit—making Yuuri bolt upright in the bed. "Who is-?" And, for a second, he deeply missed the blond at his side, his hand planted firmly on Wolfram's side—where he would have been had events gone differently.

"Did I wake you?" the shadow asked as it approached the bed.

"I…uh…"

With a gentle wave of his hand, Wolfram lit every candle in the room. "It's late. I apologize for the bother." He was carrying something white in his left hand. "Maybe, I should have slept in my old room." He thumbed at the door and there was something distant about his voice, worn out.

"Wolf!" The double black grinned widely. "I'm so glad that you're back!"

The blond raked his fingers through his bangs and graced him with a boyish smile. "It has been awhile, huh?" Then, he waved the long, white cloth. "Oh, and we finally caught our _ghosts_…" He raised the sheet with eye holes roughly cut out of it. Yuuri thought that it would make the worst cosplay costume ever.

"They used them as white flags when they surrendered, too." Wolfram ended it in a knowing chuckle. "They're being held in the dungeon right now until we can get a judge to help deal with this mess." He smirked down at the white sheet but his eyes grew hard. "It's the way you prefer things, I know."

His fingers opened and the white sheet fell limply to the floor.

"Well," Yuuri said gladly, "it's great to have you home again. Everyone will be glad to see you…especially Greta. She's asked practically every day when you'll return."

And, to that, the blond Mazoku gave something like a real smile.

"So, are you going to sleep right away or are you going to take a bath first?" It felt a little strange to ask the question considering he already knew the answer. But, it gave him something to say. And, after all this time, he wasn't exactly ready to let Wolfram go.

"A bath," Wolfram confirmed, going to the closet and gathering his bath things as well as the little wooden bucket that held his shampoo, washcloth, and soap. "It feels like I haven't bathed in a year." He glanced at his nails. "It's like I've got a fine layer of grime all over me…from my fingernails down to my pores."

Yuuri shuddered a little at the descriptions. Where he came from, keeping clean was more than a fixation. It was a core value. Plus, Wolfram was always so meticulous about personal hygiene. He always smelled good—like sunflowers and lavender—and his hair had a golden sheen to it.

"Oh, I forgot…" he said, putting down his armload and going to the small table where the letter remained unopened. He picked up the parchment and, with a single flair, burned the message to ash. It happened so quickly and expertly that the wax was hot to the touch but not liquefied. Wolfram tossed it into the trash without a second thought and collected his things again.

"Uh…Wolf?"

He turned back. "Hm?"

"I…uh…" Then, his words abandoned him. Curiosity fled while taking in the handsome face caressed by candlelight. And Wolfram simply stood there, exhausted from his mission, filthy and uncomfortable in his own skin.

Waiting…always waiting.

But he would do that for Yuuri and Yuuri knew it.

The double black shook his head. "Never mind, Wolf. Just enjoy your bath."

With weary steps, the young Mazoku soldier left the room. The candles, seemingly, flickered and died away on their own with wicks still burning red.

"Thanks for doing that, Wolf," he said as a sigh, closed his eyes, and tried to sleep. But his mind kept wondering, kept asking, "What, exactly, was in the letter?" He had felt confusion when Wolfram burned it. And, logically, he should have felt relieved about it being gone. It had troubled him from the tabletop for weeks. But, the scent of ash still lingered in the room. The words had been there—in dark ink, in perfect loops and lines, he knew—but, now, they were gone.

_What did they say?_

Now, he probably would never know unless Wolfram told him.

Yuuri tossed again, black eyes watching the closed door with the shadows of feet tramping back and forth on the other side.

_And that's not likely to happen._

* * *

A deep yawn.

_Gotta get out of bed…go jogging with Conrad,_ he thought lazily. After all this time, Yuuri's body just naturally woke with the coming of the sun through the window and the routine was a comfort to him.

A stretch…

Yuuri rolled onto his left side and the scent of sunflowers wafted. _Hmmm…Wolf, huh?_ His lips curled upwards into a smile. It felt good to have Wolfram with him. And the gentle dip in the bed was reassuring, too. The double black hated sleeping alone all those nights. It wasn't as though he was afraid of the dark. It was just that he found himself craving the companionship of another person. Well, specifically, the "person" called "Wolf."

Yuuri opened his eyes and took in the all too familiar sight. Wolfram was lying in bed wearing his notorious, pink nightie. The lithe body with thin, almost feminine, arms slept soundly while a big toe, freed from the confines of the blankets, wriggled. A piggy snort. A grumbled "wimp." The double black chuckled at it all. But, coming closer, Yuuri's childish amusement left him. From the throat down, Wolfram's pale skin was covered with bruises and abrasions. On his forearm, there was the unmistakable mark of a large thumbprint and, along the opposite side, thick finger marks. Knuckles on the right hand were rubbed raw and there was a diagonal slash mark across the back of his hand. "And, another mark on his chest" the double black whispered to himself.

Yuuri, now fed by morbid curiosity, took the lacy neckline to the gown between his thumb and forefinger and, ever so slowly, lowered it down. _A fist print, purpling his skin!_ It didn't help matters that Wolfram's skin was wan, almost too pale, even when he was healthy.

"Oh…Wolf," he sighed with regret and pity only to meet up with hard green eyes.

He woke up his bedmate.

"Yuuri!"

In a flash, the blond tore himself away. He fisted the neckline of his gown—yanking it up as high as possible to cover himself. But, the blankets fell away, revealing a sprinkling of lighter bruises disappearing up to the fold of pink cloth concealing his right thigh.

"W-Wait! Wolf!" Submissively, Yuuri placed palms outward, trying to calm Wolfram down if he could.

"I know what you're thinking," the blond growled as he swung his legs off the edge of the bed. "But, I'll be fine. I was able to heal a number of my own wounds last night in the bath. So, with a little more work, I won't even need Gissela."

"Wha-?" Yuuri fought off the scowl that so easily mirrored one of Gwendal's and all thoughts of pacifying the blond were out the window. "Won't even need…? Oi, Wolf! Be reasonable. If you need a healer, it's ridiculous to…"

Stepping away from the closet, Wolfram took his white silk robe from the hanger and shoved his arms into it. "I told you…I'm fine." He knotted the belt at his waist angrily and, then, turned back to Yuuri. "I'm not that weak."

"Never said you were," Yuuri darkened. This was more than trying his patience. All he was doing was expressing some brotherly concern. Yes, that was it. And leave it to Wolfram to twist concern into something totally ridiculous and have an argument as a result.

"Good." The blond grabbed his bath things again. "I'm glad we agree." But before Wolfram could slam the door behind him, Yuuri glimpsed the sight of deep scratches on the side of his neck where the soft fabric fell away.

"Gee Wolfram," Yuuri said sarcastically to no one, "I don't believe your mission went off quite as well as you wanted me to think. And I'm going to look forward to the reports once you submit them." Frustrated, he put a fist into Wolfram's pillow. A goose feather floated into the air. "And, even after that, I've got some questions for you."

* * *

Breakfast was an unusually tense affair. Greta, glad that her Papa Wolf was back, shoveled pancakes in as much as she liked—seemingly oblivious to the grim, formal way that Wolfram was picking at his food. Yuuri, from time to time, would cast an angry glare in the blond's direction. His shoulders were stiff and he felt as though he could barely open his mouth wide enough to eat with the stress he was under. Stress that wasn't his fault to begin with. But he knew who to blame.

Conrad, Gwendal, Lady Cheri, and Anissina continued with their usual breakfast "small talk"—which included the weather, the time of day Conrad and Yuuri had set aside for some pitching practice, and why Günter had skipped breakfast in order to complete his lesson plans.

Yuuri, overhearing, tried not to roll his eyes. He had long since learned to tune Günter out when he wanted to. And, today, being in this dark mood—thanks to his unreasonable bedmate—he didn't feel like doing much other than seethe and sulk.

"Sorry, Mother. I can't," Gwendal went on. I've called a meeting for an hour from now…"

Curiously, Wolfram looked up from his plate. "You did…?"

A trademark glower was aimed at him. "Yes, I sent a messenger with a sheet of parchment telling you and His Majesty to come after we eat breakfast. We have an incident to discuss."

Yuuri sliced a glance at Wolfram from the corner of his eye. "The person came by the bedroom…"

He made sure to say "the bedroom" and not "our bedroom." Yes, a dig and Wolfram deserved it. And, from the way the blond huffed in his direction, he'd gotten the message.

"I told him to leave the note on the bed because you're sure to sneak back into my bedroom eventually…"

Wolfram cocked his head to the side, green eyes sparkled dangerously. But, he forced his attention in another direction. "Could it be…more bandits? I was certain we'd done a good job of it."

"Leaving bruises and cuts… That's what you call _good_?" Yuuri muttered lowly before taking a bite of his food.

"Shut it," the blond growled and continued with Gwendal in a louder voice, "We were so certain last night."

Gwendal glanced at Greta, wondering if this conversation was acceptable at the breakfast table. Then, deciding that the child wasn't paying attention, he answered, "The problem is in Grande Walde—a village just inside of the von Voltaire lands. As these lands are ones I control, I would prefer to handle the situation myself."

"What is it, Gwendal?" Lady Cheri asked, her usually light-hearted tones gone for the moment.

"There's been a report of plated horntails. And not just one or two…which would be usual for the area this time of year…but a whole colony of them creating havoc in the fields."

Yuuri scratched his head, "Plated…horntails?"

Greta popped a syrup-drenched piece of pancake into her mouth and munched loosely, "Think of fat, long snakes with armor and six skinny legs."

"But if you could get some of the venom…!" Anissina began with excitement until Gwendal flashed a furious look at her.

"Venom?" Yuuri practically choked on his juice. "They have _venom_?"

"And they can jump really high!" Greta said, raising a hand in the air to show how much.

Gwendal flipped his long ponytail over his shoulder. "Not that high," he corrected. "But a man on a horse will certainly need to keep his guard up and have a sword at the ready."

Wolfram dropped his fork, clattering it onto the plate. He placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. "I want to come, too, Big Brother!" There was something written across his face which said, "I've got to do this! Please!"

Gwendal shook his head "no." "You've just come back from a mission. Only your lieutenant has submitted a report…" There was something uncomfortable in his tone which struck Yuuri as odd.

It didn't matter, though. Wolfram smiled winningly, making himself appear, for a slight instant, like a younger version of his ancestor, Shinou. "So, you have a report. Good! …Which means I have no paperwork."

He added that last part a little too quickly.

Gwendal's face folded into a frown. "Traditionally, you've submitted them, too," he recalled, "so that we have another frame of reference…" He placed his fork down and dabbed at the corners of his lips. "You're entitled to a rest, Wolfram. Not to mention that it will be a much more dangerous mission than before. So, I think my men and I can handle it."

Wolfram shook his head "no" to that. He wasn't going to give up that easily. "But, I really should come…and I can bring the fire wielders in my elite guard as support." He looked to everyone at the table—except Yuuri—hoping they'd back him up. "We can make fireballs that are better than any torch you can come up with…raising them several meters in the sky if need be. We can create fire lions and fire arrows which burn hotter than torches and fly swifter than any plated horntail can run." He sat happily with a smug expression as though he'd won the debate already. "It would save lives…of our own men and those in the village in your own lands, Big Brother."

"Teaming up might be prudent…" Conrad said in a noncommittal tone. Fire had worked against the creatures in the past. And a quick conclusion to any mission was always desirable.

"Or…I could come up with a new invention," Anissina suggested, "so that the selfish loafer would have no reason to go."

For that, she got a sharp look and she knew she deserved it.

"Well?" Wolfram asked impatiently. He wanted this so much he could practically taste it.

Gwendal could feel himself caving in. And part of this was his own fault for actually mentioning the subject in the first place instead of just assigning men and marching off. Wolfram was still looking at him expectantly. Being pressured never settled well with Gwendal—especially from those green eyes.

"Since we seem to be having this conversation _now_ instead of in my office an hour from now…" Everyone got a frown directed at them as he stood from his chair. "I suggest we go to my office to finalize our plans and procedures." He added, "And that means you, too, Wolfram."

Anissina extended a hand to Greta and said, "And that's our chance to escape the men and discuss the anatomy of a circuit in the lab."

"Yay!" And brown curls bounced with each skip in the inventor's direction.

The rest of the room cleared out, too, leaving the staff to clean up and Wolfram and Yuuri still sitting in their seats. The blond practically beamed as he tugged up the collar on his blue uniform. He was getting his way again and another adventure so soon would be a godsend. It would spare him from being with…

"Wolf!" The double black practically barked, "Look at me when I'm talking to you."

"Wha-?" Had Yuuri been speaking?

"I just asked… What do you think you're playing at?" He tried lowering his voice when Doria returned for the pitcher of juice. "There's no way you should be going off on another mission."

Gingerly, Wolfram crossed his arms at that and his face held the familiar "Oh, like I'm listening to you" vibe that the double black hated so much. He snapped, "I don't see what's so wrong with it." And he was about to get up from his chair when Yuuri grabbed his forearm to stop him. This conversation was not over yet!

The blond hissed in pain, head lowered. He'd almost cried out loud, but had stopped himself on instinct. Agony was something he'd never admit outwardly—to anybody, especially Yuuri. But, before he could stop himself, he shoved the double black away. Hard.

"Damn you," he breathed, a hand across the part of his arm causing blinding pain.

Black eyes widened. "Wolf! I-I'm sorry! I totally forgot." He wanted to reach out to Wolfram again, to place a hand on his shoulder, but, instead, he retracted it. There was something wild, of an injured animal in the expression and, in some say—on some level—it hurt him just as much. "Sorry…I didn't mean to."

Shakily, Wolfram stood from his chair and pulled himself up to his full height. His hand still covered the injured arm. "Then, let me go. I really want to do this."

"Wolf," he said regretfully.

"I mean it."

* * *

When Yuuri woke up the following day, he knew that Wolfram had already left with Gwendal and the group of men that they'd selected to come. He fell back into the comfortable silk sheets and wondered, briefly, how the ex-prince could stand it—constantly on the go and camping most nights under the stars in a single, flimsy cot. Wolfram just didn't seem the type to like that lifestyle. But, for some inexplicable reason, he did. Or, at least, he didn't seem to mind it so much that he'd complain.

Yuuri let his eyes wander from the canopy to the door when he heard feet marching down the hall. "The changing of the guard, huh?" he muttered to himself.

With a small grunt, he rolled onto his right side and took the edge of the silk sheet. He pulled it up and over his shoulder, chasing away the slight chill. No matter the season, there was always a cool, damp feeling in the castle.

Then, his eyes caught it—a folded sheet of parchment sealed in red wax. It was waiting for him on the small table.

Another one.

Yuuri buried his face in the pillow.

"Not again!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Yuuri sat behind the large, ornately carved desk and willed his attention to stay sharp. Usually, his attention fuzzed and floated away with the signing of the first document. But, this time, he was going to fight that habit. And he had good reason to. There was the image of a bratty, arms folded against his chest—_defensive_—Wolfram von Bielefeld in his mind's eye. And that image had stayed with him for hours.

Something was up.

He thumbed through the top of the stack as quickly as he could. Pages crinkled in protest, but no matter.

Forms, forms, forms.

He picked up one sheet and scrutinized it. It was a permission request to form a committee to look into the issue of reconstructing the ramparts on the eastern side of Blood Pledge Castle. Another sheet. This one was a permission request to construct a road in the von Christ lands between a small bay and the farmer's market. _Why couldn't Günter handle something like that?_

The usual, the wordy…the easily "yes" pile. And, he was expected to read it all—every single word—before agreeing. But, not today.

Dark eyes searched further down.

"Where are the military papers?" Yuuri asked himself. "Usually, Gwendal will send along a small stack with, among other kinds of things, the basic descriptions of the missions and their outcomes. And all I have to do is initial those." Yuuri took the top half of the pile (which, at this point, resembled a rather large, leaning column), fumbled with it, and dumped it off to his left. Going back to the original, he made his way down and, thankfully, found what he was looking for—Gwendal's unmistakable scrawl.

"Yes!"

There could be triumph in paperwork after all.

He started reading. After thumbing through the first few centimeters, Yuuri found himself growing more and more disappointed. The initial part of Gwendal's pile turned out to be just a run of the mill account of budgetary expenditures in excruciatingly small handwriting. Yuuri found the recently updated K-I (killed and injured) List. There was an account of disciplinary actions taken against one of Wolfram's new recruits, Jaeger Barth, with Wolfram recommending transfer out of his unit. The words "not suited for this position" were scripted in Gwendal's handwriting, too. Yuuri scratched his head a little at that. The Barths made some of the finest canons in Shin Makoku. If the second son was out of the military, that might ruffle a few feathers. And, finally, there were no less than five written complaints—yes, he counted them—about a cook named Kohl who had given Conrad's men food poisoning during their last two week patrol. The guy was going to get fired. Yuuri didn't doubt it. However, there was no mention of other patrols—specifically, Wolfram's latest.

_Nothing._

It just didn't make sense. Didn't one of Wolfram's men submit something earlier? There should be at least one account of that happened.

"But, Gwendal's usually so thorough," he sighed, putting an elbow on the desk and leaning into the palm of his hand. "So, why…?" And, then, it clicked in his mind. _Of course…_

"Gwendal," Yuuri said to himself in a half-whisper. "You didn't think that I'd notice, did you?"

That had to be it.

Yuuri thumbed through the stack again and pulled out the KI List once more. "Was there someone…?" He didn't need to run his finger down the first column. Thankfully, no one had died. So, it was empty. The "injured" column did have names. One was a prisoner with severe burn wounds to the chest. Five names were from Conrad's unit. And one… was from Wolfram's.

The double black tapped the name with his finger. "And he's still in the infirmary."

Yuuri pushed himself away from the desk, the sound of wood scraping against the stone floor. He straightened himself up and made his way for the door, opening it slightly and taking a peek. There were guards on either side—as usual—and he gave them a knowing wink as though he'd suddenly decided to take a quick trip to the privy. It also helped that Gissela's was in that same direction. So, it was easy enough. At least, easy enough to start off with.

* * *

With a hesitant knock, the door opened and Yuuri let himself into the infirmary. There were six beds, all occupied by rough looking Shin Makoku soldiers wearing light green hospital gowns. The double black felt sorry for them.

Soon enough, he was noticed. "Yuuri Heika!" and "Sir, we had no idea you were coming to visit" and other greetings met his ears, all jumbled together thanks to the room being sans carpeting.

Yuuri placed his palms up to politely shush them. "Gissela doesn't know that I'm here. I snuck in," he admitted. "But, it's good to see you all."

The soldier in the last bed forced a smile on his face. He still looked gravely ill but tried to be encouraging by saying, "We'll be right as rain soon. But somebody needs to make sure that we never have to eat that slop again." The other men grunted in agreement. They would still be on their feet if it hadn't been for that idiot cook who couldn't tell the difference between good meat and bad. The smell should have been the first clue.

"So," Yuuri fished, "you were all brought in here because of bad food."

He got jumbled affirmatives with the soldier closest to Yuuri chortling, "Yeah, except him." He thumbed to his right. "He's from Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld's Elite Guard."

A brunette fire wielding Mazoku lying in the bed closest to the door was snuggled into his covers, trying to look small.

Black eyes turned to him and the soldier could feel himself quake. He'd actually seen Yuuri in action—in his Maou form—on more than one occasion. And while Yuuri Heika had the reputation for being merciful and a little naïve, he also knew that The Maou spirit that dwelled within the young king had his own ideas of justice. Once, Lord Wolfram had run away to Bielefeld, ending the engagement. As a devoted soldier, he had, in fact, joined him—along with other loyal members of the guard—knowing in his heart that he would do anything for his commanding officer. Anything. And, not long afterwards, Yuuri Heika had taken notice and tracked them down. Yes, he had ventured to Bielefeld Castle with the intention of bringing his fiancé home. Even a duel between the two of them didn't end things between them. But The Maou had no issues with fighting a fiancé at full strength. It was only Yuuri's innate kindness—and he suspected, _affection_—that saved the day.

Still, this was not a good situation to be in—injured, cornered, and with split loyalties. His king was one thing, but his commander was someone he practically venerated and would gladly die for.

"So, it's you, huh?" Yuuri said nicely, a hand behind his head with slight embarrassment. "You're in Wolfram's Elite Guard."

There was a shaky nod. "My specialty is fire. I can make some really good arrows and fireballs when needed." He shrugged in the bed, trying not to be a braggart or anything. "Not bad with a sword, either, thanks to…"

"Wolfram?" Yuuri finished for him. Actually, in this moment, he realized that it could have been all too easily Wolfram lying there. And, oddly, Yuuri found himself enjoying the simple pleasure of saying the name. The double black felt closer to Wolfram because he did so.

"Uh…yes sir."

Yuuri smiled brightly again. "When is Gissela going to release you…um…? Sorry, you never told me what your name is."

Actually, Yuuri knew the name. But, not being introduced, this way made it much easier.

Wincing and with an arm wrapped tightly over his chest, the soldier sat up in the bed. "It's Chadwick, sir." The blankets fell away from under his chin, revealing deep bruising on his arms going from purple to dark green. A hand was bandaged—almost resembling a boxing glove. Yuuri felt a little surprised and wondered what else had happened to the man to make him wind up in this place.

"And, she said she'd release me tomorrow morning."

Yuuri made a mental note of that. "Then, at two in the afternoon, could I see you in my office for a brief meeting?"

This was an order, not a suggestion. The soldier understood and easily agreed. "Sir, if I may…?"

Curiously, Yuuri turned from the doorway and looked at him. "Yes?"

"Is Lord von Bielefeld…? I mean…" How should he ask this? This was Shin Makoku's king, after all, he was speaking to. But, Chadwick felt compelled, even if it had unknown consequences. "…Is _he_ well?"

Black eyes narrowed at him as the men in the other beds talked amongst themselves, all wondering aloud at the odd question.

When Yuuri didn't answer right away, Chadwick could feel his heart race. Something! There was something after all. His fingers gripped the edge of his blankets. "Please, if there's anything I can do… I mean, we all care…" He caught himself. "…I mean, deeply respect Lord von Bielefeld…would prove our loyalty in any way possible."

For some reason, that wasn't reassuring to Yuuri in the slightest. The way the soldier talked about his fiancé—the desperate look in his aquamarine eyes—bordered on "gushing fan" in his opinion. Wolfram may be the star of his guard, but he was a person first and foremost. But, beyond that, he was someone who had eyes only for his king. Of that, Yuuri knew only too well.

"Tomorrow. At two. My office." And, with that, Yuuri left the infirmary thinking, _That's when I start getting some answers…with or without Gwendal's approval. It's just the way it's going to be._

* * *

It was an ordinary day with almost the same routine. The only thing that differed from the usual was Yuuri's insistence that he play catch with Conrad in the morning, right after their jog, and then take a long, relaxing bath. Günter, forever monitoring his daily schedule, had pressed him hard as to "Why?" Yuuri smiled pleasantly, or, rather, in a way he knew that Günter himself would find "pleasant" and answered as vaguely as he could that he had to chat with someone.

Words. Unspoken. Unsaid.

This time, as Yuuri was about to go out the bedroom door, he paused to pick up the letter. He didn't open it. He just had to have it with him for some inexplicable reason which irritated the hell out of him.

Now seated behind the desk, Yuuri flipped it next to the new and improved "Leaning Tower of Paperwork" which had materialized thanks to Günter's zealousness. Obviously, the white robed tutor and personal aide thought he was doing a big favor for him and for Gwendal. The papers leaned a little more menacingly. Yuuri wasn't so sure about it.

The ticking of a clock…

Another flip using the edge of his quill this time. The letter did a cartwheel and landed wax-side down. The double black sliced a look at it. Some of the wax had flaked off on the table. He lifted up an edge to peek.

_Still sealed, huh?_

He sighed to himself and glanced at the clock directly opposite him. _Almost time_. It was only a minute later when a knock came at the door and Yuuri said "Please" which the soldiers outside always interpreted as "Come" and opened the door for the visitor.

In his dress uniform, which mirrored Wolfram's almost perfectly in terms of color and neatness, Chadwick entered the maou's office and then bowed respectfully.

Yuuri stood from his seat and motioned to the leather chair directly across from his desk. "I'll only take up a few minutes of your time," he said in the formal Mazoku tongue. It was a good way of subtly twisting the knife and Gwendal had used it on him more than a few times.

Just like with him, it was effective. Chadwick walked stiffly to the chair and took a seat. Once perched on the edge, he seemed to be glancing around the room with nervousness, looking and taking everything in as he did so. Yuuri remembered the first time he entered this room, too. He'd done pretty much the same.

But, now was not the time for reminiscing.

Yuuri took his chair, feeling a little uncomfortable himself but trying not to show it. "I…ummm… think I should just get to the point," Yuuri explained, drawing the young Mazoku's attention back to him. "I want to talk to you about your last mission…what happened and…why."

"Sir, I don't…" He shook his head.

Yuuri smiled in his typical disarming way. Günter would have given in at that almost instantly. But when it didn't work, the double black refused to back down. "I think we both understand each other…" he went on.

The aquamarine eyes widened slightly but, otherwise, his face seemed unreadable. "I was under the impression… Lord von Voltaire…uh…"

_Gotcha!_ Yuuri thought darkly. _Gwendal had a hand in this. I knew it._

He pressed on. "I believe Wolfram's second in command, Luca, wrote a report that explained much." _Not that I got a copy_, he thought sourly. Intentionally, he leaned across the desk in an almost Gwendalish fashion.

_Fight fire with fire_.

"But not everything, you see."

Chadwick found himself nodding in agreement. He couldn't help it—not when the maou was coming across like _this_, not his usual easy going, sweet natured self at all. And the room felt oppressive. He tugged at his high collar.

Yuuri glanced at the soldier and then back to some notes on his desk that he'd taken. When Gwendal did this with him, it almost always made him squirm. There was something about a ridiculously formal meeting with only two people in the room that made him feel as though he was in way over his head. "I've already been informed about the bandits masquerading as ghosts…raiding both sides of White River's border. And I've made a formal review of the prisoners we've captured. I know all about them, too." He tapped his quill repeatedly over the word "ghosts" leaving dots all over it.

Visibly, Chadwick swallowed hard. And the room fell into an awkward silence.

_I wonder if he suspects what I'm going to say next._

Yuuri didn't want to be a bad guy or to be as pushy as his brother, Shori. But it seemed as though Chadwick wasn't going to reveal much unless he had good reason to.

So, Yuuri gave him a reason.

He put the quill down. "_Wolfram_," he stressed the name, "came back from that mission in pretty bad shape, didn't he?"

Chadwick lifted his head, mouth agape. In fact, his whole body tensed up to the point where Yuuri felt extremely uncomfortable just looking at him. He could practically feel the young man's nerves. As a result, the double black fought the urge to shift in his seat. But, then, a thought occurred to him. If he had been his normal, "nice" self, he would have gotten nothing out of Chadwick. But playing the part of "Gwendal," he'd gotten clues—bits and pieces.

What if he played the part a little bit longer?

He scratched his cheek in thought. What was it that Gwendal always did to make him crack? Oh, yes… It was starting a sentence with his name—like teachers did—which made him feel like he was in big trouble.

"_Lt. Chadwick_, I've seen the bruises and scratches on his body. You know about them, too, I'm sure."

Actually, he wasn't sure if Chadwick knew. Not really. However, at the word "seen," aquamarine eyes shifted. There was something in them that spoke of suspicion and misgivings.

Inwardly, Yuuri sighed. He supposed that everyone knew of his relationship with Wolfram—that he treated the engagement as something he'd blundered into and, as a result, he made no effort to conceal that attitude outside of the privacy of their bedroom. Therefore, Yuuri knew his last statement must have come off as a lie.

The double black pushed back his shoulders and tried again with embarrassment coloring his cheeks this time. "In….uhh…I-In bed, I could see…you know…"

Okay, so now he was implying something that wasn't true. And he was profoundly self-conscious even though what he just said had been, technically, truthful.

"I…understand," Chadwick replied but in a tone laced with something else entirely—jealousy. It was impossible to miss it and Yuuri felt bad about that, too.

So many people loved Wolfram, desired him. And, maybe, Yuuri had no right to keep the fiery Mazoku all to himself. But, if he tried to push Wolfram away again, he knew that the stubborn blond would only come back for more. Or, at least, up until recently, he had been that way.

Then, the young king reflected on it. With the exception of time with Greta, Wolfram had been distancing himself more than usual—more than he did when they bickered. Had Wolfram made the decision to spend his off hours with his private guard?

He took in Chadwick's striking features.

Or, more specifically, _with_ someone within his guard—someone like Chadwick—who would treasure him?

_Eventually, everyone gives up after failing enough times. A failure I created…_

Growing weary, Yuuri put a hand to his aching head and said, "I know all about the fist mark in the center of his chest, the scratches along his neck…" He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to block those pictures from his mind. He continued with, "The thumbprint and the finger marks, the slash on the back of his hand…finger bruises going up his thighs…"

Under the table, his hand made a fist.

"I think he did a really good job healing himself so that no one would notice. Don't you think so, too?" Yuuri leaned his elbow on his deck, cheek in his hand—waiting for an answer. So far, he'd done all the talking.

There was something unforgiving in Yuuri's eyes now and Chadwick found himself buckling.

"Yes," the soldier answered slowly. "I was really surprised, when he came to see me in the infirmary. His face looked absolutely beautiful. The scrape from that rock…the one above his left eye…was completely gone."

Yuuri blinked at the news but did nothing more than that, forcing himself to remain calm.

Chadwick folded his hands in his lap and lowered his head a little, trying to come across as respectful to his commander's fiancé.

"It was really dark, where we were positioned. Lord von Bielefeld had selected me and five other men to wait along the forest's edge for the ruffians in white to approach. The rest of our guard had been chasing those humans and half-humans on horseback…forcing them in our direction where we could cut off their escape." His eyes drifted as he continued speaking. "Suddenly, the night was aglow with fireballs, arrows, and the most magnificent fire lion ever designed…by Lord von Bielefeld, obviously." Chadwick's tone swelled with pride. "He can stand on the eastern part of any field of battle and produce fire magic on the west…a beautiful, deadly art."

Yuuri leaned in, listening. He made a vague motion with one hand to continue the story.

"A blue rocket flair burst into the sky—a signal that we'd secured the road. But, suddenly, right before the last of them got to the bridge, they took an immediate left along an animal trail. I raised a fireball into the air, lighting the way for my fellow guardsmen to follow. And they passed me, but I noticed Lord von Bielefeld remained behind even after he'd given us all the order to pursue." He glanced up and then down again—shame etching into his face. "At the time, I didn't understand it. Hesitated… But, then…"

"Then?" Yuuri asked, urging him to continue.

Chadwick's hands were now on his knees, fingers tight—white. "Something…or, I suppose, _someone_…shoved me off my horse. When, I opened my eyes, I could see that the leader, a big…burly fellow…a mountain of a man dressed in dark green…was suddenly standing over me. There was a sword pointed at my throat before I knew it."

The young soldier looked up, heart beating hard. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" His face was begging for some sort of absolution. "I had no idea I was in danger until I felt the tip of the metal against me. And, then, Lord von Bielefeld suddenly dove from his horse at the man…shouting at me, ordering me to get back on my horse…ride off and leave him." Chadwick shook his head in dismay. Even now, it seemed to be too nightmarish to think about. "It happened in an instant. I didn't have time to think. But, I…"

"Go on," Yuuri said, needing to know and forgetting his manners for the moment.

The first time he opened his mouth, to do as the king ordered and continue with the tale, nothing came out. It was shameful. So, he tried again and forced the words.

"I…disobeyed orders…" he confessed in an undertone. "I know that the punishment is three lashes or one week in the dungeons…" He brushed away a strand of hair, annoyed at it, really. "…But I joined in when I realized what the degenerate was trying to do to Lord von Bielefeld…landed a few punches, like my commander did earlier, until I got kicked in the ribs and I felt something crack inside of me."

The double black steeled himself before he asked the next question. He took a small breath and let it out. "And…just what was the man trying to do?"

Casually, Chadwick fold his arms against his aching ribs while his whole countenance visibly blackened. "This is not something gentlemen should discuss."

Yuuri's heart ached dully for Wolfram. It was what he feared.

"The guy tried something with him, huh?" It wasn't a question so much as a statement.

He kept seeing Wolfram in his mind—training his men, riding his steed, wielding fire, drawing his sword with debonair flair. A perfect, white knight on a horse if ever he'd seen one. But, maybe, Wolfram was simply too pretty to be a soldier. And that beauty, which naturally drew people to him, made him vulnerable.

Chadwick stood from his chair. "Please don't blame him!"

The panicked tone was what tore Yuuri from his thoughts. "Eh? Wha-? I don't…"

The soldier explained quickly, "I understand…in fact, we all do…that our commander's reputation is somewhat…_misleading_." He puffed out his chest and stood at attention. "Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld, I can testify without a doubt, is a very honorable, forthright and exemplary leader." It seemed to hurt when he added, "His fidelity to you is unmatched!"

Yuuri could only sit there, stunned. _F-Fidelity?_

Did he hear that one right?

A pause deafened the room.

A look followed. Chadwick seemed cross—as though Yuuri didn't believe him. "Yuuri Heika," he tried once more, "I can testify that the ruffian that attacked your fiancé did it out of cruelty, not lust." He shook his head to make the memory less vivid. Though, he was certain it would haunt his dreams tonight. "It's just that the brute was wearing around his neck a red houseki stone as big as my fist. And, when he held my commander in his arms, the stone simply sapped all of the strength out of him." Chadwick's expression was pained. "'My beauty,' he said, 'if the Demon King doesn't want you, I do.'"

Chadwick wrapped his arms around his aching ribs. "The only help I could be was to take the white sheet that the half breed had thrown to the ground, creep up from behind, and cover the pompous ass' ugly face with it." He raised a bandaged hand. "I tore the stone away, too. Burned like the devil, though."

Yuuri circled the desk, took Chadwick's hand gently in his own, and examined it. "That had to have been painful. But, thank you…" He tilted his head up and noticed the sudden, pinkish blush on the soldier's face. Yuuri swiftly came to the realization that hands…holding them in any way…may actually come off as "flirting" or, worse, "courting." He added, "Thank you so much for being there for Wolfram."

The hand lowered to the soldier's side. He gave a bow in return.

"My commander did everything on his own," Chadwick defended. "Even when the bastard was trying to keep a death grip on his neck and arm." There was a pause and then he said, "Even when he tried…_lower_." Chadwick bit his bottom lip at that, but continued. "But, he fought and fought. And, by the end of it, Lord von Bielefeld kicked him…where it hurts most and set his shirt on fire."

As serious as the situation was, Yuuri couldn't help but smile at that just a little bit. It was so…Wolfram!

"But, Your Majesty…May I be permitted to ask a question?"

The double black looked to him. "Sure."

"Why was he so merciful?" The confusion was clearly written there and Yuuri wasn't exactly sure of the question. So, the soldier rephrased it. "If someone tried to…put their hands all over me…taunted me…tried to make me feel weak, alone… Why would I insist afterwards that the man's burns be treated by a healer? Because, that's what he did."

Yuuri's mind flashed back to the list. There was one prisoner and only one who was being treated down in the dungeons for burns.

It was him.

"Not that I would reveal it to anyone, however… But why, Yuuri Heika? I don't understand. Such needless mercy casts a shadow on one's honor…one's _reputation_…" In a quiet voice he added, "…As though he deserved such vile action against him…approved of it somehow."

But Yuuri knew why.

_It's because of me. It's because it is something I would want for anybody…no matter the reason for being locked up._

"It's my fault," Yuuri admitted. "People shouldn't blame him. They should blame me."

Chadwick seemed confused again. "You're the king…and a good one. No one will blame you for anything. Besides, Lord von Voltaire…"

"Has taken care of everything?" Black eyebrows narrowed slightly.

"Yes."

_I thought so._

* * *

Holding back the curtain with his hand, Yuuri stood by the window and looked out upon the nightfall with growing concern. Wolfram, Gwendal, and their men should have been back by now. In fact, they were almost one week late. There had been no word, no messenger pigeon, in more than two days. And, frankly, Yuuri was getting to the point where he wanted to slip out of the castle, find his wayward friends, and bring them back safely again.

Wolfram's letter was back on the nightstand—vexing him when it was convenient—which was, practically, all the time.

"Wolfram."

Now that he was alone—and that he _knew_—there seemed to be more to dwell on. Everything that had happened between them made sense now. Not that he hadn't suspected it. Somewhere, in a tiny corner of his mind, the thought had crossed and, just as swiftly, he'd pushed it away and focused, instead, on Wolfram's sudden childish behavior. But, hearing the account and replaying it over and over in his head made him sick inside. And sad. There was something terribly lonely about it, too—about having that kind of thing becoming a secret because it was something "gentlemen" can't discuss.

Even though Wolfram managed to break free, he had been mistreated—touched in a way no one should have been. No matter the age, no matter the gender, it was simply wrong. And taunting Wolfram during it all had to have been the worst.

_No, had Chadwick not been there to help…_

Yuuri's mind caught on the words the soldier conveyed, repeating them: " 'My beauty,' he said, 'if the Demon King doesn't want you, I do.'"

Yuuri felt a chill and wondered if it was really coming from the window. He let the curtain fall back into place as he turned away from it.

"Wolfram, I keep messing up…don't I?"

_Please come home._

* * *

"Breakfast," he sighed as a chair was pulled out for him to sit. Yuuri tried his best to appear cheerful at the table. But today was the same as yesterday and the same as the day before that… or was he living a single day over and over again?

It certainly felt like it.

"Is something the matter, Yuuri Heika?" Günter asked, worried that his beloved maou was ill.

From across the table, Conrad seemed to stop eating long enough to consider his physical appearance. "Is there something we can do?" he asked evenly.

Greta looked up at him, a little worried.

Yuuri waved his hand dismissively. It was so embarrassing to have everyone at the table anxious about him when, in fact, his main concern was Wolfram… and his men. Yes, his men, too…and Gwendal. Grumpy, not too forthcoming on information, Gwendal.

"I was just sort of thinking…"

"Yes?" Günter said, hands clasped together over his heart.

"I mean," Yuuri said with a slightly strained smile, "I was just sort of…thinking…wondering…when Gwendal, Wolfram, and our men would be returning." He gave a boyish shrug to emphasize the fact that he _WAS NOT_ obsessing in any way over Wolfram and his state of being…bodily and otherwise. Because guys never think those things—ever!

With a slightly knowing smile, Conrad said, "They returned last night, actually."

The double black's eyes widened at that. "Seriously? I didn't see Wolfram at all. He didn't come…"

_He didn't come to our bedroom._

"It wasn't that long after sunset," Günter chimed in. "And, due to the lateness of the hour…for the sun stays up longer in our summer months here in Shin Makoku… Gwendal suggested a light supper in the dining hall and then bed."

_Bed?_ Yuuri thought. _He didn't come to bed…and that could mean…_ A cold, nagging feeling was coming to him. _What if he was injured? What if he's with Gissela right now?_

"I believe that Wolfram chose to sleep in his old bedroom last night," Conrad continued and then popped a small piece of bacon in his mouth. "I know that he had a private conversation with Gwendal that lasted quite awhile. So, I'm not surprised that both of them are sleeping in today."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's the case," Yuuri agreed. _I'm sure they had a long talk and I'm fairly certain what it was about, too._

"Yuuri?" Greta said, tugging on his sleeve to get his attention. "Can we have a picnic with Wolfram soon?"

The double black smiled at his daughter. She was adorable when she was like that—huge, puppy eyes and a smile that was impossible to resist. "Sure, why not?"

"Yay!" she cheered. "Picnic! Picnic!"

He scooted his chair and motioned to get up just as a heaping plate of eggs, bacon, and toast was put before Yuuri. Now, he couldn't make an excuse to leave the room.

"Here you go, Heika," Doria said, pleased with both the meal and the presentation.

Slightly defeated, Yuuri let out a sigh. He had to eat the food set before him. It was his Japanese nature, he decided. It was simply a sin to let good food go to waste. Well, there was that and his growling stomach—which made Greta giggle as she handed him a glass of apple juice.

He took it with a nod to her. But that didn't change his plans.

_Just wait, Wolf. We're going to meet up today. You'll see._

* * *

Not in the infirmary, thank goodness! Not in the kitchen, the main dining hall, or The Grand Ballroom. Not in the rose garden, the maou's bath, the library, or Gwendal's Office. (Though, Gwendal _was_ in there and Yuuri just managed to escape in time.) Not in the nearest broom closet. Okay, now, he was just being ridiculous.

A cluster of maids eyed him suspiciously from behind, still holding buckets and mops—waiting for him to finish whatever it was he was doing.

Not noticing them, Yuuri, looking left and right, continued on. He trudged down the next hallway, grumbling about how big the place was, until a flash of blue with sunny blond hair met his eyes.

He was disappearing into the maou's bedroom.

_Yes!_ Yuuri cheered inwardly and made a quick "skip-a-tee-jog" of it—passing two confused guards on duty as he went.

Wolfram had lost their little game of hide and seek.

And that felt good.

Still smiling broadly, Yuuri snuck into the bedroom as quietly as he could. Then a loud, enthusiastic, "Oi, Wolf!"

The blond stiffened abruptly, turned around in a flash, and frowned with his chest heaving. He had been totally unprepared to have Yuuri standing behind him. (With all of that soldier training, how could he not hear?) But he quickly recovered from it—shoulders back, chin up, he flipped his bangs out of his eyes.

"H-Hello, Yuuri."

His heart was still beating hard, and that was, in itself, annoying. But, no matter the circumstance, manners should always take precedence. But, then, he scratched his head in confusion and asked, "Wait a minute… Aren't you supposed to be in your lessons?" Usually, Günter was so obsessive about the double black and the time he could spend with him.

The double black grinned again. He placed his hand on the back of his head sheepishly. "Is that why you picked now to come in here?"

Yuuri had really intended it as a joke between them, but, from the look on the bond's face, it seemed to be true. To cover the awkwardness, Yuuri explained, "Actually, he's helping Anissina with an experiment and that gave me the chance to make a run for it." He pantomimed running with arms pumping. "So, you know…" He drifted off, not really knowing how to end his thought.

Wolfram smirked wryly. "You took advantage of a bad situation."

"Maybe." There was a kind of shyness in him when he admitted to it. Wolfram looked away. It was too cute and he feared that his feelings would show if he watched any longer. And Wolfram knew that his feelings wouldn't do either of them any good.

"I don't blame you," Wolfram said as he turned for the closet. "To be honest, I came in here for my new boots. My old ones have a few…problems."

"Eh?" Yuuri looked down and noticed, with growing alarm, that the boots had vicious slash marks. No, check that—fang marks, dragging long lines from calf to ankle to toe.

"Wolf!"

"It's nothing." He shrugged it off. Back to business.

The double black approached and placed a gentle hand on Wolfram's shoulder. "What do you mean 'nothing'? I can see for myself that it's not…" But the young man wasn't looking at him. His head was down, blond bangs covering his eyes.

"Wolf? Look at me," Yuuri insisted, turning the fire Mazoku in his direction and forcing his face up by placing a hand under Wolfram's chin. "I'm tired of this, Wolf. Whatever's going on with you, you keep doing things like..._like this_. You keep putting yourself in danger and I don't understand it."

Wolfram, as carefully as he could, placed his fingers against Yuuri's, took them in hand, and removed them. He made his way, as casually as possible, for the letter on the table. "Yuuri," he said almost as a whisper, "Have you ever wondered where your place is in this life? Did you ever question it?"

The double black shook his head. "You're not making any sense."

The words didn't even sound like him. Where was the haughtiness? The selfishness? The…confidence?

The fire Mazoku suddenly looked older, more tired with Yuuri's criticism. "Maybe…I'm not." He took the letter in his hand and, with a single small burst of fire, burned it to ash with, once again, the wax being little more than a clump of red in his palm. "Maybe, it's something that cannot be settled with words."

The blond tossed the wax into the nearest wastebasket with a dull thud and went back to the closet. "My boots…are in here somewhere…" He leaned in, eyes narrowed to see better.

Yuuri found himself just standing there, frustrated. The letter was gone—again! Wolfram had come back much worse for the wear, and not for the first time. And they were drifting further and further apart.

He had to ask. There was something inside that compelled him to do so. They had come so far.

"Do you still want to be with me?"

Angry green eyes turned in his direction. It was there, not as bright and not as strong as before. But something sparked in Wolfram's emerald eyes. And, for that, Yuuri felt gratitude and relief.

"You do, don't you?"

The blond put a hand on his hip. "Of course, wimp, because I'm your…" And then, just as quickly, he stopped himself.

Old habits were so hard to break. He wanted to kick himself.

_Stupid_. He was just plain stupid to allow Yuuri to toy with him…with this…whatever "this" between them was.

Wolfram closed his eyes slowly and then opened them. The dull sheen dominated. "What is your point?"

Yes, answer a question with a question.

Circumvent.

Misdirect.

Avoid.

"Well," Yuuri began slowly in an attempt to, somehow, reach Wolfram, "I only found out that you'd returned to the castle at breakfast this morning."

Wolfram gave a short, curt nod. "I instructed everyone that I didn't want you to be disturbed. You had already gone to bed." It sounded like a lame, weak excuse. So, he added, "What was that saying from Earth, 'Good news can wait?'"

That sounded a little better, a little more arrogant. Surely, Yuuri was more likely to buy it.

Yuuri approached the mammoth bed which dominated the room and sat on the edge of it—on Wolfram's side. "So, why didn't you sneak in like you usually do?"

A hard question.

A smile twitched on Wolfram's face nonetheless. "Remember the last time we were together? You said, at the table, that this was… '_the_ _bedroom'_ and not 'our bedroom'. You made a point of it, in fact."

Yuuri frowned. "I'm not possessive of this place." He gestured to everything around him. "Not to mention, you come in here whether I like it or not. And you've made yourself quite at home."

He was right. The blond couldn't deny it. Wolfram looked at him sincerely. "And…possibly…it's time for me to stop."

Yuuri's face slowly changed from "angry" to "concerned." "Something's wrong with you, isn't there?"

The blond glanced away. "I'm not even sure if there's an answer to that." It was honest, but that was all it was. And, possibly, on some level, he just didn't want to discuss the topic right now. He was tired of life…life in general. Wolfram was weary of hidden truths, clever language, and half-lies—all of the things he had experienced in this courtly life that he'd been born into. And Yuuri, as bumbling and naïve as he was, was a part of this. And it took so much effort to educate Yuuri, to teach him the things he needed to know without indelibly staining that innocence which defined him and made him the special person that he always was—and always should be. Deep down, more than desiring Yuuri in any romantic way, he wanted to protect him—to shelter that goodness so that he wouldn't become the bitter, suspicious, and jaded person that he knew himself to be.

But, now, Wolfram was changing and questioning not only himself and his surroundings, but everything.

He'd seen Yuuri become a good king. And Yuuri had so many people beside him, supporting him. And that trust which he had in them ran deep. But he truly didn't understand how incredibly lucky he was. He could absolutely trust the people around him. He could. And they all had a purpose—all except…

"I think you're reading too much into this," Wolfram evaded as he returned to the closet, dug around a little, and found his other pair of military boots. But the formerly, highly polished boots that Wolfram still had on were perverted in their shabbiness—scuffed, scraped, lined with fang marks. There was no glossing over the evidence.

"Is your horse okay, then?" Yuuri asked from behind, determined to keep trying.

"Absolutely," the blond said, holding the boots in his arms. "I got these marked up when I was fighting on the ground next to Gwendal. He'd create massive pits and then crush the creatures within. I burned anything that tried to escape."

"But, they still came at you." He pointed at the worst of the fang marks. From looking, it appeared that the plated horntails didn't bite so much as grabbed with their four needle-like teeth and tried to hang on.

_Oh, no! Venom!_

Yuuri's black eyes widened at the thought.

"Are you okay? Did any of them break through the leather?" It was possible…especially with the shape the boots were in. Maybe, a scrape or scratch that he didn't feel?

Wolfram shot him a sour look and turned—briskly making his way out. "I'm fine."

_Yeah, and you made me think you were fine the last time, too, but…_

Instead of going after him, Yuuri made himself comfortable on the bed—sitting cross-legged, placing an elbow on his thigh, and a cheek in his hand. "Wait," he said before the blond could reach the door and find freedom.

The carved-up boots clicked to a halt. "What?" His voice was irritated and his back was still to Yuuri.

"Don't go."

"Why?" was said between gritted teeth.

"Because…you can't."

Wolfram turned with a jerk and stormed his way over to the bed, doing his level best to come across as intimidating. No wimpy king was going to tell him what to do. This was ridiculous. Yuuri was just needling him about a pair of stupid old boots that would have been thrown out eventually anyway.

"What did you just say to me?"

Yuuri, his face placid, tilted his head up. "I said you can't go."

He had to fight back a growl of frustration. This was Yuuri—wimpy, wimpy, Yuuri! He would actually have to grow a pair before he could do anything anyway. Wolfram holding his boots in his arms found himself almost crushing them. Yuuri was being impossible now. "Oh really? So, what would you have me do?"

"Strip."

"What?" It couldn't be.

"You heard me."

"NO!" He was absolutely indignant and Yuuri had lost his mind.

"Do it…_n-o-w…_or else!" He pushed.

Green eyes narrowed. He leaned in, practically face to face.

"Or else…what?" He pushed back. At which point, Wolfram von Bielefeld learned a very important life lesson—that defying the maou was a very, very _bad_ idea.


	3. Chapter 3

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Chapter 3

.

.

He never saw it coming.

A hand shot out at his starched, blue collar and pulled hard with the sound of stitches ripping. The antique neckchain slipped off and fell with a heavy swing.

The strength was startling. Wolfram was easily tipped off balance and face-planted onto the mattress next to Yuuri. He craned his neck with a heated "WHAT THE HELL?" and barely missed a head-butt to the double black as he did so.

With deep, husky grunts, they struggled with Yuuri landing on top.

There was a barked "OI, WOLF! DO IT!" followed by a shove which the blond ignored.

Legs kicking…hands gripping, struggling…heavy breathing…

Using the training techniques he used with his men, Wolfram broke away from the hands clamping into his forearms. Next, he twisted on the bed, wrestled his legs around Yuuri's and, using his left elbow on the mattress for leverage, hauled the double black farther back into the center of the bed and over—no longer giving Yuuri the advantage.

The room made a loop. Before Yuuri knew what was happening, he was flat on his back. Wolfram had managed to pin him down on the massive bed—straddling his hips. Even so, Yuuri kept trying. Grappling, gripping, struggling… Bucking his hips hard almost worked.

Almost.

Now, the blond had Yuuri's wrists pinned over his head—hard breaths, lungs heaving for both of them. Sweating.

Raven eyes widened impossibly when he realized the position he'd landed himself into. The two of them were alone, on the bed, and one was on top of the other. Worst of all, he was on bottom.

"Wolf, I…uh…" he began with none of the brashness from before—even if it had all started for Wolfram's benefit.

The blond tightened his grip on Yuuri's wrists and settled himself down to be more comfortable than his captive was at the moment. Yuuri flinched, feeling the weight. His heart was beating faster than it should have. Even lying down, he felt dizzy. And Yuuri could feel something cold arc through his veins. Seriously, he couldn't move. What if Wolfram was about to…?

"It doesn't feel good, does it?" Green eyes looked down on him warily. Yuuri felt his breath catch. Wolfram, staring down at him with distrust, was the last thing he wanted. He'd seen the blond stare at strangers that way, interlopers, the enemy—but never _him_. "To be held against your will…to be ordered to strip off your clothes…" He wiggled his hips slowly against Yuuri's body and narrowed his eyes when the double black turned his head away with a wince.

"Do you realize it now, _my king_?" his voice darkened.

Wolfram put both of Yuuri's wrists in his left hand and turned the double black's face towards him. "But this…_this_ is what you fear most. Somewhere deep inside…you fear…_this_…you fear…._me_." He gave the double black's face a pat. "You always have."

Yuuri shook his head "no," afraid to speak.

"Stop lying to yourself. If you could look in the mirror right now…face pinched in fear…even though…_even though_…" He lowered his head, blond curls covering his eyes. "…You're the one who started this…"

Wolfram's voice dropped away to nothing. The words. He said them—finally. No more pretending. No more hope. The words were true and they were real because he finally had the guts to utter them.

But unwarranted…unjust… That's what he wanted to scream until he realized... "And this is the way it always ends between us…isn't it?"

_Nothing resolved. You run, I follow. Is this all that I can ever be?_

This time, Wolfram's eyes filled with tears. But, he refused to cry in front of Yuuri. There would be no way he would do it. Even if he did—if he gave in—it would change nothing. He would have Yuuri's pity, not his heart.

"_Wolf…ram_," Yuuri said softly, seeing the eye shine and knowing, deep inside, that he'd caused it.

With a disgusted growl, Wolfram rolled off of the double black king. "I'm not your doll or your tin soldier. I'm not a plaything that you can simply toy with because you feel like it." He was off the bed now, standing with a hand on his hip. "And you can't just order someone to _take off_ their clothes without possible consequences…you wimp!" He was so angry now he was shaking. The tone was cruel and he didn't care. "I am yours because you slapped me, proposed to me…even if it was a mistake. Like it or not…" He made his way for the door, jaw set. "But what pisses me off the most is the thought…the very _idea_…that you would entertain about me…" Roughly, he swung open the door, not caring who was in the hallway, who would hear. He pointed an accusing finger. "I would never forcibly _take you_ on your own bed against your wishes! Since we met, I've never even touched you!"

He was smoldering, black wisps rising up his back and palms—illuminating the deathly pale face and washed-out, blond hair.

Tragic, anguished, livid…but enticing as a hot wind swept his face.

"Why would you think I would change my ways now?"

And, with that, Wolfram stormed away—wrinkled uniform and shredded boots.

Yuuri sat up in bed and rested a palm over his face. He whispered "What have I done?" as Conrad entered the room, having overheard only the end of the argument.

Yuuri, without looking up said in a wet voice, "I don't even know where to begin."

* * *

Conrad was having a difficult time keeping up with Yuuri this morning. When meeting his godson in his charming, white jogging suit, he seemed a little too friendly, his smile somewhat strained. Moreover, he was extremely enthusiastic about their jog—where they would go and how long they'd be gone. And then, turning on a dime, Yuuri fell into a pattern of jogging with his mind floating away. Eyes searching, remembering.

On most days, Yuuri would talk to him about the castle, his schedule, visitors who excited him, and Greta's latest cute remark. (Last week, a piece of meat rolled off her plate and she announced, "Oh, no! I've got a rogue sausage.") It was the single person he always left out who seemed to fill the biggest hole in the conversation until, not being able to put up with it any longer, Conrad would simply bring up the name and Yuuri was a fountain of complaints. "Wolfram this…!" and "Wolfram that…!" and "You're not going to believe what Wolfram's accused me of this time!"

The frustration was there—evidently. But what Yuuri never seemed to realize was that Wolfram was the only person he argued with in this way. Yuuri always had such a strange mix of determination and choler reflected in his eyes when Wolfram had done something which particularly annoyed him. There was no one else he raised his voice to in the castle. There was no one else whose criticisms both angered and improved him.

Conrad jogged a little faster to take up his usual place by Yuuri's side. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his godson. There was "stress" coupled with a large dose of "ire." A few steps later, the Asian features softened to something akin to remorse.

"Wolfram," Conrad said evenly.

Yuuri lurched into his next step—throwing off his entire rhythm.

"Sorry," Conrad said with an apologetic tone, "I know that yesterday…"

The young king looked down at his feet for a moment and replied, "My fault…entirely my fault…and, I had started out worrying about him, too. And, then, he got stubborn and I wasn't going to back off…" He glanced at Conrad to see if he was catching his meaning, and to see whether or not he was mad. Wolfram was Conrad's baby brother, after all. And he knew that.

"I…caught the end of your…somewhat _loud_ conversation," the older man admitted and Yuuri fell back in his pace.

"I'm sure you're not the only one," Yuuri stated flatly and, to that, got a firm nod.

"I think the guards in the hallway heard everything…or at least thought they did…start to finish."

Yuuri turned his eyes to the heavens in frustration._ Practically front row seats, ugh!_ His mind had already glossed the whole incident completely over. It was impossible for him now to pick apart the confrontation and to imagine what it must have sounded like on the other side of the door.

But the bigger issue—beyond rumors and innuendo—was Wolfram.

"What do I do?" Yuuri asked. "He won't talk to me. He didn't come to the dining hall at all, and I'm not exactly sure where he's hiding out."

They jogged near the stables and Conrad raised a palm, signaling him to pause. "Can you wait here, your majest-" and then caught himself. "I mean, Yuuri."

The double black shrugged a "yes," jogging in place as his godfather made his way for the stables. He was gone for only a minute when the tall man returned with a different kind of smile on his face. "I'd suggest that brushing Ao, instead of letting the stable boy do it, would be a good idea right about now." He gave a wink and, before Yuuri could make another comment, made his way for the castle at a more leisurely jog.

"What you mean is…he's here?" Yuuri said to himself as the stable boy came around the corner, adjusting his pants from watering a small shrub. The child recognized his king, ducked back behind the building, and scurried off to find the rest of the conveniently absent stable hands. If he was right, the king and his fiancé might want some privacy.

Yuuri, oblivious to the child, stopped jogging in place and, instead, walked quietly up to the door of the stables. He wasn't sure what he was going to say. On top of that, he wasn't sure what Wolfram was going to do. And the butterflies kept fluttering in his stomach. Sickened and nervous, the double black put a hand to his middle in the hopes of pushing back the feelings. A small, cowardly part of him begged to turn back and follow his godfather. Let the whole situation blow over and then pretend nothing had happened in the first place. But, the much larger part of his soul told him to just face Wolfram and get it over with. Once everything was said, maybe the blond wouldn't cremate him.

Yes, that would be the best bet.

The double black ducked into the large, wooden doorway. The smell of fresh hay met his nose right away. It was a kind of dry and slightly sweet smell. It was certainly something that the double black had to get used to considering his whole life had been spent in Japanese suburbia.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Stall doors were lined up to the left and right of him. On each one, the bottom was solid with a single, large "X" across it in wood. The top half had iron bars positioned vertically.

"You're so lucky you're a horse," Wolfram's voice said from deeper in the building. "Come to think of it, you're so lucky you're _my_ horse." There was a boyish chuckle which followed along with the sound of a brush using short, quick strokes.

Yuuri wandered further in and noticed that Wolfram's horse was still in his stall with a blond-mopped visitor. The soft brushing sounds continued. "Does that feel good?"

The white steed gave a shake and a shiver—flesh and hair moving in quick ripples.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" He knelt down further and the blond hair disappeared from behind the bars of the stall door. "Let's get the underside of the belly…like this…" The strokes continued and Wolfram gave another boyish chuckle. "Yes, I thought you'd enjoy that, too."

Standing on the other side of the door, Yuuri could easily see in. Wolfram, in his usual blue uniform, was on bended knee next to his beloved horse. There was a stiff bristle brush in his right hand, brushing in the direction that the hair naturally fell.

He almost hated to disturb him, but… "Uh…Wolfram?"

The blond almost dropped his brush—juggling it instead. His sweaty, narrow fingers easily slipped out of the hand strap. But, somehow, he managed to grab it in midair and fisted it complaining, "You're doing it again! Must you sneak up on me all the time or is this becoming a new habit for you?" He put his other hand to his heart.

The horse, sensing Wolfram's sudden change in mood, turned to the intruder and sized him up. It was the same _black one_ that he'd seen many times before—had ridden with. But, was this one a danger? Battle instincts begged the question.

Now that he'd been discovered, Wolfram sighed and gave his horse's neck a gentle pat. "No need to worry," he soothed with a soft tussle of the mane. "I'll come back and finish you up later," Wolfram promised, swinging the heavy door away from him so he could exit.

Yuuri stepped back a few paces to let the blond through. When the door was closed again, Wolfram's horse came up to the bars and snorted at him.

The double black put a hand behind his head. "I'll be good. I promise."

The horse didn't believe him—which made Wolfram want to laugh even though he was severely pissed that Yuuri had, somehow, managed to track him down.

Another, annoyed warning "snort" came from Wolfram's horse which prompted a "Believe me, won't ya?" from Yuuri.

The blond called from ahead. "Come on, Yuuri. We haven't got all day." There was a distinct frown in his voice.

With a nod, Yuuri doubled his pace—catching up.

They made their way out the main door and stepped into the sunshine. Wolfram preferred it. He didn't know where the stable hands were, and he didn't want to have another personal conversation this soon in front of the castle's staff. He could just imagine talking to Yuuri with the whole lot of them suddenly coming back in time to overhear. If possible, he would finish his talk with Yuuri on their way back to the castle. That would be the mature thing to do.

The bright sunshine made the air warm and lazy. This part of the property was dotted with young trees and small shrubs—homes for birds and squirrels. Wolfram sidestepped a small garden snail with a brown shell, inching its way for the safety and security of tall, cool grass on the other side of the path.

He put his hands in his pockets and asked, "So, what can I do for you?"

Yuuri looked at him uncomfortably, knowing full well that this was his chance. "I really wanted to say 'sorry' for what happened earlier. I went too far. I mean, I know that I did…and you did, too, but…"

Wolfram regarded Yuuri as he spoke. When it was his turn, he sighed "Agreed," very slowly. Well, he assumed that it was his turn. Yuuri had a habit of trailing off or, at least, when speaking Mazoku, he had a tendency to not finish his sentences. Wolfram wondered, and not for the first time, if Yuuri applied Japanese rules to the Mazoku tongue because they were familiar. It would explain a lot if he did.

Yuuri, feeling slightly better continued with "I was just worried about you, you know? There's venom and those boots were so scraped-up." His black eyes looked into Wolfram's sincerely. "What if you'd gotten a scratch or something and you didn't even know it?"

"You were really worried about me, weren't you?" the blond asked with a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Yuuri, seeing the smile, turned his head down. But, instead of making Wolfram happy, all he could see was Yuuri avoiding him—avoiding _them_—once more.

The warm feeling abandoned him.

"There was really no reason to," Wolfram explained in, maybe, a harder tone than he intended. "If I had gotten even a scratch from a plated horntail, within minutes, I would have been doubled over in pain…getting herbal enemas every twelve hours."

The double black visibly squirmed at the enema.

"Wimp," Wolfram said with a roll of his eyes. "If one of the symptoms of the poison is projectile vomiting, how else can medicine be kept down?"

"P-Projectile?" Yuuri could feel his stomach churn; the butterflies had totally gone.

Wolfram turned his gaze towards the castle, his hands behind his back now. "And, to be entirely honest…looking back on it, I went overboard, too…" He glanced at Yuuri and then away. "I just sort of…went too far to prove a point."

Before Yuuri knew it, the two of them were walking along a pleasant, narrow path. The castle grew larger with each step.

"But trust me when I say that I can take care of myself," the blond went on in a tone Yuuri didn't like.

"Hiding bruises and scratches is not what I call 'taking care'." Yuuri trudged on. It felt like they would be going for round two any minute. "And I bet you've done stuff like this before, too!"

A pale hand tightened into a fist. "I'm a soldier," Wolfram countered, "and it comes with the job."

This was so stupid! They were doing it again. Yuuri felt an adrenaline rush and blurted, "Being held down and manhandled is not part of the job—ever!"

It took Wolfram's breath away. He just stood there, gaping at him to the point that Yuuri felt compelled to back off a few steps.

"You were spying on me," he realized, speaking his thoughts out loud. Green eyes widened in realization.

"No!" Helplessly, the double black shook his head. This wasn't what he'd intended at all. They were supposed to be making up right now! Getting along! "I never sent Yozak or any of the castle spies after you. It's just that when I talked with Chadwick…"

Both of Wolfram's hands were balled into fists now. "You interrogated Chadwick? _One of my own men?_" Wolfram's fingers suddenly flared open and bright blue flames burst forth like claws.

"Wolf," Yuuri could hear himself pleading, "please calm down. It's just that we're all worried about you. Please-"

"I can't believe you!" Wolfram bellowed in the deepest, most bloodthirsty voice Yuuri had ever heard him utter. He shot his arms out to his sides, fire rolling off almost instantly. The seemingly beautiful blond bishonen now looked like the personification of fire and brimstone. His lithe body was practically aflame, fingers of light danced over him. "TRUST DOESN'T WORK BOTH WAYS WITH YOU, DOES IT?" The face of one who was betrayed fixed an unblinking, unforgiving gaze. "HOW DARE YOU PREACH TO ME!"

A window on the second floor of the castle opened and Gwendal's head shot out of it with a commanding, "Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld! March into this meeting room this very instant or you will be on leave for the next three months!" He withdrew only to stick his head out again. "And if you set anything else on fire, I will personally assign you and your men latrine duty! Do you like the idea of digging and guarding latrines?"

With that, the window slammed shut.

Wolfram looked to the double black with his eyes shouting "You bastard!" He turned on his heel and left Yuuri alone with the smoking, skeletal-esque remains of two rose bushes, a sapling, and a half-melted garden gnome formerly known as "Skippy."

* * *

For the next week, Wolfram and Yuuri were to be kept apart.

Gwendal, at dinner that evening, made no bones about it and Yuuri was given no other choice but to reluctantly concur—which angered Wolfram all over again. And which made Yuuri scratch his head at the multitude of emotions that crossed the blond bishonen's face.

Yuuri watched Wolfram from the corner of his eye and wondered, _How can someone feel so many things at once? _

For Wolfram, it was the same old frustration. It felt like everyone at the table was blaming him—silently disapproving of his use of fire. The blond stabbed his chicken with a fork and sawed with the knife, putting effort into it. Wolfram did his level best not to make eye contact with his Big Brother but a harshly whispered "I don't deserve this" crossed his lips nevertheless. And, when he was tired of force feeding himself, (For, who could eat under such stress?) Wolfram quietly excused himself.

He needed a break from them, but morning would come soon enough. It always did.

Working entirely in Gwendal's office, Wolfram was demoted—temporarily—to the role of personal aid with the most irksome task being the screening of _Yuuri's_ paperwork. Usually, either Gwendal or Günter did it. But, the droll task was now Wolfram's as a punishment. And, even though the blond had tried, repeatedly, to explain to his brother why he lost his temper—that Yuuri had dug into his personal business and had nosed around—Gwendal did little more than sip his tea and utter words like "Get over it."

The blond's face fell into a frown. "How?"

"How, indeed…and remember, he's the maou."

Wolfram made a wide, dramatic "Why me" gesture. "But…my privacy!"

An eyebrow raised. "This coming from the person who sneaks into the maou's bedroom every night."

Another frown. "I've been formally reassigned to bunk in my old bedroom…thank you, sir," he said sarcastically.

Gwendal just smiled at him sardonically, held out his cup, and said, "More tea."

The fire wielder gritted his teeth into a rather frightening, forced smile. "Of course…"

"And be quick about it."

Wolfram "humphed" as he poured from the antique china teapot with the cute, delicate pattern in gold leaf. A squeeze of lemon. A stir.

Life in this castle was unfair. From where he stood, he could see outside of the window. The training field lay empty. Gwendal had given Wolfram's Elite Guard the entire week off. The whole week! And, cheerfully, they took it.

Wolfram "humphed" again—his opinion remaining the same as before. _Unfair!_

The blond soldier placed the steaming cup of tea on the saucer on Gwendal's desk and was about to ask "Anything more?" in the most polite tone he could muster when the question came, "What do we have here?"

"Hm?"

Gwendal was holding a request form. Wolfram cocked his head to the side, trying to read it at an angle. He recognized his own handwriting. "Oh, that… I was requesting permission to take my men to Lake Tanglewood for training."

Gwendal took up his cup. "But that's only a thirty minute ride from here. Why bother with something so close if you want…" He narrowed his eyes at the page. "A…three day training session…?"

The request form was placed on the desk sideways for them both to see. Easily, Wolfram took on the mien of a commanding officer—an attitude which, in Gwendal's opinion, suited his baby brother far better than screaming incoherently at Yuuri Heika or setting Blood Pledge Castle on fire.

"Right here…" The blond fire Mazoku ran his finger smoothly across the page. "I'm going to provide training in more than just element wielding and riding in formation."

"And more than, I presume, your basic 'slashing with a sword at a pole-mounted watermelon at a gallop,'" he said with a slightly teasing air.

"Yes, but we'll have some of that, too, on the first day," Wolfram said as he leaned forward and pointed to his "Goals and Outcomes" part of the form. "I intend to explain and demonstrate various methods of creating a break in enemy infantry lines. After which, attacking infantrymen from horsetop is relatively simple. Our particular guard, with element wielding abilities, will be instrumental to the victory at hand. In fact, we can cause further loss of cohesion in the lines of the enemy and, thus, spread panic among the enemy infantrymen. For, it is much more efficient to strike from the vantagepoint of a horse than to battle 'face to face' on the ground."

Gwendal took a sip of his tea. "That is true…for the most part… when in large numbers. But don't forget agility-oriented combat techniques."

"Definitely."

Gwendal's eyes showed approval, and Wolfram found himself straightening his shoulders a bit more, chin raised. He'd done well with his planning.

"I believe that a soldier's training should not rely entirely on element wielding," Wolfram explained. "And my men need more than just strength and bravery. They should work well in teams, be intelligent, and rely on cunning, when called for, to complete a mission successfully."

Pleased, the General of the Mazoku Army took another sip. Not that he would praise openly, but Gwendal couldn't help but glow with pride. Sometimes, Wolfram really impressed him. And, in the years to come, he couldn't wait to see just what kind of man his little brother would turn out to be.

"Let's go with that," Gwendal said evenly, "and conclude your training with a renewal of each soldier's Oath to the Maou."

"Yes sir."

"Dismissed."

* * *

The week separating them was over as of yesterday, but Yuuri still didn't feel any better. He'd found out through Gwendal that Wolfram and his guard had left for Tanglewood Lake for more training.

Yuuri was certain that both Gwendal and Wolfram were still mad at him. And that was why Wolfram had disappeared with only Greta and Lady Cheri getting a formal "goodbye." It felt like it had been forever since they had been able to have a civil conversation beyond, "Wolfram, could you pass the butter, please?" at meals.

Now, Yuuri was stuck in his office with more than his usual amount of paperwork. The only saving grace was that it was incredibly well organized paperwork. In fact, it had been that way all week—which made the double black wonder about that.

Yuuri sat behind his desk with a dreary look to his eyes and sighed openly.

Paper, paper…and more paper.

He thumbed through the first part of the stack and came across handwriting which seemed to be Gissela's. Apparently, she wanted to purchase medical supplies from Caloria.

Yuuri looked closer at the paper.

Specifically, she was requesting an exotic herb (that Yuuri couldn't even begin to pronounce the name of) which, she thought, would fight off infection very quickly in Mazokus. The price was high as it had to be imported and the double black was certain that Gwendal would disapprove. Why buy elsewhere when Shin Makoku had a cousin of the exact same plant? Sheepishly, Yuuri gave a fast "yes" and put it away. Gwendal could always yell at him later, and he could just sit there looking fat, dumb, and confused.

Yuuri turned back to the stack of papers and noticed that it was tilting a little oddly. "Something?" He'd have to reach in and grab whatever it was in the middle that was making the stack shift. Dividing the papers quickly and then reaching in again, Yuuri came across something rectangular and smooth. He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled out, to his amazement…

"A letter..."

Parchment paper, folded over, red wax seal. "To Yuuri" was written on it in Wolfram's perfect script.

"I can't believe it!" He smacked a hand over his face. "How did he manage…? I mean, he usually leaves it in our room." Yuuri groaned, "Why this time…?" before he realized that the two of them had been ordered to take a break from each other.

Yuuri folded his arms against his chest in frustration. "No choice. I really need him to stop writing me. I just don't want to see these anymore. I'm tired of it." He flipped the letter onto the edge of his desk, determined not to give it another thought.

_Morbid, that's what he's becoming._ _And I've had enough._

* * *

The wind was annoying—blowing off the lake in gusts while he was trying to read his status reports. He had to have a death grip on the papers, or they would go flying. "Lieutenant Luca," Wolfram said a little stiffly to the brunette Mazoku on his right, "please tell me that, once again, we have remembered everything and I don't have to go to the General of the Mazoku Army…asking _humbly_…for more supplies."

Wolfram's second smiled painfully at the memories. It was only ten years ago when they made that mistake and Lord von Voltaire, to this day, was still quite fond of bringing that topic up. They could both practically hear him preaching: "It is our sacred duty to be prepared in all ways and in all things. Not to mention, a military force marches on its stomach..."

"We're in very good shape, sir. And, last I checked, the castle was providing us with more than what we actually requested."

Wolfram "humphed" at that—feeling irritated. "Why am I _not_ surprised?" Wolfram complained as he eyed the organized chaos going around him. Tents were being erected as was a place to corral the horses. The hay wagon had just arrived along with the honey wagon. Two soldiers were busy with the supplies tent, gleeful that Lord von Voltaire had been kind enough to "gift them" with three large barrels of ale for their Oath to the Maou. Cooking fires were being erected in designated positions and one bonfire would be held tonight—giving the men something to look forward to as the fire wielders brought the enormous wooden structure to life. Afterwards, the other element wielders would extinguish the smoking remains safely. That was their tradition as a unit and it kept a strong bond among them.

People: Moving. Footsteps. Walking. Voices. Cheerful. Irate.

A little too loud and somewhat distracting, but still Wolfram went back to his work, flipping the curled-up reports out in front of him again. That wind had better die down or they would have to construct a smaller bonfire this time.

It wouldn't be as much fun.

Stepping. Grass crunching. Someone approaching. Just when he was getting into that last paragraph, too! Wolfram sighed inwardly and turned with Luca when a rough voice said somewhat irreverently, "_Sirs?_"

It was one of the local farmers dressed in a tattered white shirt, overalls, and worn-out boots. He gave an unpracticed, awkward bow and said, "Gotta load of watermelons. Told to bring it over to ya."

Luca bit his lip to keep from blurting something like, "Where's my guard duty list? This civilian shouldn't be here. Someone else should be dealing with him."

Wolfram smiled slightly, knowing his second in command only too well. He whispered, "You knew the job was dangerous when you took it."

"Dangerous?" he chuckled dismissively and then pointed to something on Wolfram's list. Luca then turned to the old Mazoku, "See that tent over there? Take your wagon over and ask Sergeant Dietrick where to stack the melons."

"More target practice?" The old man gruffed the question, not caring that he'd worn out his welcome.

Both military men gave an even stare which couldn't be interpreted any other way. And with a grumpy growl, the old farmer hobbled off.

A voice bellowed, "Lieutenant Luca?"

As one, both Wolfram and his second looked up from the papers.

"Lieutenant Luca?" A wave followed it.

The Mazoku made a face and shouted back, "Who gave you permission to roar my name from the opposite side of the lake?"

The corporal just stood there, looking dumb and confused. Should he answer or not? It was probably a rhetorical question to begin with so…

Wolfram chuckled under his breath and pretended to read a particularly fascinating percentage rate written at the bottom of page three. He could practically _hear_ his lieutenant fuming when the voice called from across the water, "I'll come to you, then!"

The brown haired Mazoku sparked light from his fingertips. "I think I'm going to throttle Jenkins…has a noggin but no brains in it worth a damn."

Wolfram glanced up from his papers and stage-whispered the golden words "honey wagon."

With devilish grin coming to him, Luca agreed a little too enthusiastically "Yes, I don't think he even knows what one is, being from such a wealthy, noble family."

A smirk from Wolfram. "It's about time someone educated him."

"I'll get right on it."

The blond Mazoku added mockingly, "I'm sure someone will…maybe, a lot of someones."

There was another gust of wind and Wolfram worked to steady his papers. More crunching of grass. Boots trudging up behind him at a quicker pace this time. Something else must have gone awry. Wolfram could see a shadow when he glanced to his right—a long shadow of one of his men in uniform.

"Hm?" The blond turned to look over his shoulder. "What do you need?"

A sword plunged into Wolfram's back just beneath the brown leather shoulder strap on his saber belt. The sharp, red tip of the sword pushed through his chest—splattering blood down the front of his uniform jacket, more showering blades of grass in a fine spray.

With effort, the blond Mazoku could barely remain standing, legs having locked into place on instinct. But, his chest seared with pain and he dared not even breathe.

"Not suited for this position," Jaeger Barth hissed hatefully into Wolfram's ear. "Let me show you a little of what I've learned, you bastard!" The Mazoku with straight, stiff, light brown hair gave the hardest kidney kick that he could and withdrew his sword as though from a sheath.

Wolfram fell limply to the ground while the malicious shouts of his men seemed to close in from all sides.

Feet thundered and the air grew thick.

"Let me show you the difference between a thrust and a slash!" Jaeger taunted as he raised his sword in what would be a destructive arc. Yes, he knew that he had little chance of getting out of this one alive—not with the element wielders all making a mad rush at him. But, Jaeger decided that if he was going to die, he would take his former commander with him. After all, being tossed out on his ass for not being good enough was von Bielefeld's fault to begin with. The king's virgin whore, indeed!

The sword was poised.

Fire arrows sped quickly to their target, thudding into it and setting it ablaze. Jaeger's back was filled with them as he staggered, fighting for breath and consciousness as he brought his arm down—slicing open the back of Wolfram's right leg.

The blond's body jerked, feeling the slash. Material was ripped away, bringing forth blood and gore.

Another volley of fire arrows.

Wolfram felt the buzz of a shield around him. Maybe, more than one. _Earth wielders…_ He was warm and wet on the grass—his uniform soaked in red as was the antique neckchain which once belonged to his grandfather.

Blood with each breath and pain…so much pain.

Wolfram's heart called to Yuuri. A need…to hold his hand, draw strength. One last time…even if he was never loved in return. It would be fine if he could just have that.

_Please…_

* * *

Wolfram's life hung by a thread. That's what they had been told despite all of their prayers and efforts.

A small group of them were allowed to wait in the room while everyone else involved practically hovered on the other side of the infirmary door, crowding the usually busy hallway. But, they had been waiting for so long. Too long, in fact. And the young king was at the point where he could no longer stand it.

Approaching the little clustered group standing opposite Wolfram's bed, Yuuri looked to Lady Cheri, Gwendal, Günter, Conrad, and Murata—taking in their expressions, one by one, as he asked hesitantly, "Everyone…? I know this may sound strange, but…I kinda… What I mean to say is…I-I'd like to be alone with him, please."

It was selfish. He knew it, but he had to ask.

Without waiting for an answer, Yuuri opened the door leading out into the hallway only to have the men in Wolfram's guard suddenly trying to peek in, hopeful faces that their commander had turned the corner somehow and was feeling better.

"Please?" Yuuri repeated in a half-whisper, a hand pressed against his own heart.

He wanted to be alone with Wolfram. No, he needed it.

"I-I mean," Yuuri went on awkwardly, "everyone's been standing around for hours and Gissela keeps telling us to go get some rest, you know?" But, that wasn't it. Not really… _The truth. No more excuses_, he thought. "But, like I said, I …kind of…want to be alone with Wolfram for a little while…so…" In a smaller voice he went on with "I hope everyone understands."

There was an uncomfortable silence which made Yuuri's heart beat harder. What if they objected?

Lady Cheri smiled sadly to herself. "I think we can take a small refreshment break in my sitting room and be back in twenty minutes."

Gwendal turned to her as though she'd gone mad. How could a mother leave her son in such a state?

But, not to be deterred, the beautiful blond linked arms with her oldest son and explained in a forcibly brighter tone, "Sometimes, we just have to leave things alone for a few moments…and, miraculously, they improve."

"Mother, you are confusing me." He shook his head. What if Wolfram took his last breath while they were away…drinking tea of all things? Would she ever forgive herself if he died alone? "In all these years, you have never…_EVER_…!"

Conrad's eyes flicked from Yuuri to Wolfram and back again. His mother was absolutely right and he nodded in agreement. He interrupted with "I think we should. Let's _all_ take a small break."

"Not you, too," Gwendal growled from the betrayal, but found himself escorted out into the hallway anyway with the rest of the small group following dutifully behind.

"Later, Shibuya," Murata said in sympathy, giving his friend a soft pat on the shoulder as he exited.

"Yeah, thanks." He closed the door and leaned heavily against it for a moment. He'd gotten what he wanted but, at the same time, dreaded it. Still, he needed to know and he wanted to find out—together. They had to be together even though Wolfram had planned for him to be all alone. And maybe, in some way, he truly deserved that. Now that he thought about it, he probably did.

The double black took the chair next to Wolfram's bed. He sat down and allowed his head to tilt low. His bangs covered his eyes while his right hand pressed against his heart.

How had it come to this? One minute, his life was fine. It was routine, almost perfect. The next…

_I have to face it, don't I?_

He straightened up in the chair, shoulders back—the kind of thing Wolfram would prefer. Yuuri unbuttoned his black jacket down to mid chest. He reached into the inside pocket and retrieved a letter with "For Yuuri" penned in Wolfram's perfect formal Mazoku script.

With a shaking hand, he broke the wax seal and unfolded the stiff parchment with a deep crinkling sound.

This letter was addressed to him. He had every right to open it. Or, at least, that's what he told himself. For, Wolfram didn't "return" on his own. His men brought his body back.

"Okay…" his voice quivered.

There was no going back now. He knew it.

The double black began in a soft murmur: _Yuuri_, _if you are reading this letter, then I did not return to your side. And, by extension, it also means that my body rests in peace somewhere—for, truly, there could be no possible circumstance in which I would not return to you, to be with you._

"Wolfram, this is…?" He poured over the beginning again but the inked words remained the same. With a troubled expression, the double black turned to Wolfram who was lying quietly in the infirmary bed. The young Mazoku's face was ash and his body was wrapped in strong-smelling, herb-soaked bandages. But the pale fingers of the right hand still had traces of ink on them—the same ink as the letter.

_I composed this as a final farewell, knowing that I may never have another chance to tell you how I truly feel about you and what it was like being with you all these years. _

_Before my honorable father passed away, time and again, Mother would often sit by her window and wonder about how he felt about her. Looking back on it, I suppose it wasn't entirely that different from the way we were. They argued often, had a budding friendship, and had a child together. But, after he died on the battlefield, Mother would often speak as though their arranged marriage was something more akin to a love match. No one was fooled except, possibly, her. Like them, our engagement was, more or less, a formal arrangement. And make no mistake, Yuuri, had we married, you would never have been truly happy with me. I know that because, even to this day, you haven't been._

Briefly, Yuuri closed his eyes to the words.

_How many times did you shove me away? How many times did I ignore it and choose, instead, to remain by your side? Yes, there were moments when I toyed with the idea of letting you go. I really should have been brave enough to do it. Had I been a better person, maybe…_

_So, in my heart, you will always be my greatest love and my greatest regret._

Yuuri rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Wolf," he whispered sadly.

_There is something remarkable about a one-sided love such as ours. For, now that I'm gone, there will be nothing to mourn. That, alone, is a relief._

Yuuri's fingers gripped the parchment tightly, wrinkling it.

_Please stay with Greta, our daughter, and remind her that I loved her very much. Being her father has been a privilege. And I have been so incredibly fortunate to have known her._

_I make one final request of you. Please be so kind as to escort my casket to Bielefeld Castle. _

_Because we never married, I will not be allowed the privilege of being buried by your side in the royal cemetery. Separated in death as we were in life, it is quite fitting that it ends this way—another reminder that this relationship was prolonged by me…fighting against the fates out of my own selfishness. Holding onto people is wrong, Yuuri. And, only at the end do I recognize this._

"_Wolfram_." The double black said the name as a sob, head lowered. "I had no idea you saw it like this."

Yuuri took a few gentle breaths and continued reading.

_I have no doubts that you will stay for the funeral out of courtesy and kindness. You were always that way with people. But, following that, please… Do not return. There is nothing for you there._

_Despite everything and regardless of the circumstances behind the ending of my life, please take comfort in the knowledge that you made me happy. _

Yuuri stopped reading for a moment and whispered "How?" Under his thumb was the line:_ It didn't always seem that way, I know. But, you did._

As Yuuri continued with the letter, he realized that he was nearing the end. He didn't want it to. He didn't want Wolfram to stop speaking to him through the letter. He wanted the words, needed them—even if they were painful to them both.

Without realizing it, his fingers gripped the parchment tighter than he intended, tearing the edges. But, he went on:

_What I want for you, most of all, is to know what it feels like to be in love. I couldn't give you that gift, as much as I tried, but someone else will — someone to share a sunset with._ _And it is my hope that you fall in love and marry. For, our daughter deserves another parent…even if it isn't me._

_Now that I think upon it… Maybe, letting you go—after all—wouldn't have been so heartbreaking. Not if it was for the greater good~_

The letter ended. It just simply stopped. It wasn't concluded with "sincerely," "as always," or even "love" but simply with…

"Wolfram."

There was something hollow inside Yuuri when the words were gone. When there was nothing of him left to hold onto. The double black pressed the folded parchment against his heart and murmured, "I was right all along. It really was…a love letter."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

.

.

Yuuri stood in the corner. He didn't know why he was there, exactly. But, he stood where he was supposed to.

Candelabras made of finely cut crystal glittered and the scent of flowers dominated the room. A vase filled with tall, yellow sunflowers was on the edge of a table next to Yuuri and he couldn't resist leaning over to smell them.

_Sunny and warm…summertime._ They seemed to remind him of…of _someone_; he just couldn't recall who.

Suddenly, he noticed: Laughing. Bodies pressed together, standing. Others passing. Crowded words…all at once with no meaning. Air warming and becoming thick.

The Grand Ballroom was now overflowing with people—nobles dressed in their finery, silks and lace, polished brown leather and tailored suits. The drinks table had a little crowd circled around it headed by Günter who was telling some sort of amusing tale while handing out glasses of sparkling wine to those around him. Greta skipped past with a brief, uncomfortable wave. Yuuri made a pathetic wave in return as he saw her take Conrad's hand, instead of his, and point to a lemon dessert far out of her reach. With a bright smile, his godfather helped out: passing her the treat, a fork, and a cleverly folded cloth "flower" to wipe her mouth on. It was so cute the way she eyed it, obviously wanting to keep it instead of using it for its intended purpose.

Yuuri had to chuckle at them. But, for some reason, it made the nobles around him glance at him in confusion. Three middle aged Mazoku women whispered viciously behind their antique lace fans as they moved away, not wanting to be seen too close _to him_—as though they approved, which they did not.

"Why would _he_ be here?"

"A scandal!"

"Doesn't he know what the other side of a door looks like?"

"They say he's just like his mother."

Yuuri scratched his head at that. "I don't get it. Why -?"

The double black looked down at himself and was startled. He was dressed in a crisp, blue dress uniform with a white silk jabot at his throat, an antique neckchain, and a saber belt strapped to him. His sword wasn't his Demon Sword, Morgif, but a more slender and decorative type for ceremonial purposes.

On the other side of the room, Lady Cheri appeared on a low dais before the assembled nobles with the musicians warming up in the background. She smiled at everyone winningly—her hair tied up in black ribbons and her gown for the evening being a stunning, sparkling ebony dress with red accents on the short sleeves and a thigh high slit up the side.

"Everyone!" she said with her glass raised slightly. She took a shrimp fork and tinked the side of her champagne glass to get the room's attention. And, soon enough, everyone settled down. "I would like to say that tonight is a very special night…as we all know. It's a date which will go down in history. And, I've done it at least three times…" She winked at the crowd. "And maybe another time soon…" She eyed a group of men still hovering near the drinks table. "So, with a happy heart, I want to wish our maou all the best!"

Lady Cheri raised her glass and all of the nobles did, too. Even the servants near Yuuri had glasses to lift. And with so many arms in the air, it was difficult for Yuuri to see. Usually, when they mentioned him, everyone would turn and smile. Sometimes, Yuuri wondered if their smiles were real. Sometimes, he knew that they were forced—like with Wolfram's Uncle Waltorana.

However, standing in the corner wearing this blue uniform and not knowing exactly _why_ made him extremely anxious. What if people noticed? What if they saw him dressed as…_as Wolfram_? And, in this place, how could they not? He tugged at the material nervously.

It would imply something about them, wouldn't it? Something that wasn't true, right?

Embarrassed, Yuuri could feel his heart beating harder.

"To our maou! To the 27th Maoh of the Mazoku, Yuuri Heika!"

Yuuri's eyes widened impossibly when a blond haired, emerald green eyed Mazoku took the dais. "_Wolf-ram_?" Yuuri whispered to himself, not understanding what was happening.

With the exception of the gold crown's touches of red velvet and the cape of a matching color, Wolfram was wearing a formal, all- black version of the finery that The Original King, Shinou, was famous for. The clothes suited him and his coloring. However, there was something lacking in his smile and his posture showed the burden that Morgif seemed to bring, strapped to his hip.

As everyone toasted with cheers and wellwishes, Wolfram's eyes scanned the assembled and, finally, met with his. And the sense of an oppressive weight filled Yuuri's chest.

Wolfram's face asked "Why?" And then, just as quickly, he masked his features and smiled to everyone in a far too friendly—almost goofy—kind of way.

This could not possibly be. Yuuri put a hand to his head.

"Thank you, everyone," Wolfram said in the spirit of good-fellowship. "And, now, as tradition dictates…I'd like to introduce to you…" He made a gallant, sweeping gesture to his left, reaching his hand out. "My new bride, Amanda Shibuya. The new Demon Queen of Shin Makoku."

Yuuri felt as though he couldn't catch his breath.

_Married? He got…married?_

Wolfram reached out for a beautiful blond Mazoku who had the slim build of a ballerina dancer. She was fair of face and had hair done up in an elaborate bun and braid with diamond clips pulling back long bangs with a slender crown with a veil attached at the back. Her dress was white and the cathedral length, pearl studded train was being carried by no less than three pageboys in elaborate costumes.

Amanda approached her husband, "King Yuuri," and took both of his hands in hers. She leaned forward for a kiss and Wolfram, in front of all the people, reluctantly did so.

"Awww…he's blushing," a servant said as she brushed past Yuuri, handing out small bags tied up in black silk thread.

"Again! Again!" some of the nobles cheered, glasses raised.

Everyone in the room toasted them.

Yuuri, still in the corner, looked again and noticed that Gwendal was now standing next to his mother, wearing his more ornate dress uniform. He had a drink in hand and seemed very pleased with the outcome of the day. His eyes met with Yuuri's and, almost instantly, he gave a warning glare. Then, he motioned with his eyes for him to leave out the side door.

Confused, Yuuri fiddled with the buttons to his blue coat until a servant, grinning over her shoulder at the man who had just flirted with her, turned back with her hand outstretched. She gave an awkward "Uh…here" before she could stop herself and Yuuri took it—a small bag of paper streamers tied together with thread.

"Now, it's time for the bride and groom to have the first dance!" Lady Cheri announced with her hands clapping. She gave a quick, decisive motion to the orchestra to begin and they did so. "Isn't Yuuri Heika lucky?"

Kindly, Wolfram offered his hand and the bride took it, gracefully descending the dais with her new husband.

For a brief second, Yuuri caught a glimpse of his parents. Both were dressed in clothes of the Shin Makoku style and his mother practically glowed as she wished the bride and groom well.

Upon reaching the dance floor, the maid of honor looped up the train into an elegant, multi-layered bustle. She gave her best friend a small kiss for good luck and then stepped quietly away.

Trailing behind the crowd, Yuuri tried to approach the dance floor, too. He knew that this was not what Wolfram wanted—even if Wolfram _was himself_ and _not himself_. And there was something that Yuuri was feeling from only watching Wolfram and his bride together. Something raw inside. Something taken away or stolen before his eyes. Something unjust. Wasted time. Wasted effort. Dark burning within beyond consolation.

Yuuri shook his head to clear it.

He should speak up. That was the way to settle things—bring them out into the open. Be honest even if it hurts. All he would have to do is pull Wolfram aside and tell him that.

"Wolfram!" the voice growled in Yuuri's ear. He jerked abruptly, wanting to jump out of his skin.

"G-Gwendal?"

"Of course, it's me," he said lowly, trying not to draw attention to them. "Didn't I tell you…_repeatedly_…to only come for the toast and then leave?"

Yuuri stammered, "B-But…I…"

Gwendal spoke quickly, positioning the glass as though taking another sip of his drink. "I'll tell you again… He never loved you. He didn't care that he left your reputation in shambles. And he was never man enough to call off the engagement. Instead, he left it to me to break the news of his _new_ engagement…_to her_." Angrily, Gwendal's eyes flicked to the new bride and then he downed the last of his drink after muttering the word "coward" under his breath.

The tone was cruel and bitter.

Yuuri opened his mouth but found no way to retort. Did Wolfram and Gwendal always speak this way in private? So bluntly?

Gwendal stared into his empty glass before glancing at his brother and back again. "Not to mention, Yuuri Heika told me this morning that he's…_gotten her pregnant._" He hissed the last three words.

Yuuri pressed the small bag with black strings between his palms. "P-Pregnant?" he squeaked.

"Yes," Gwendal went on in almost a "shushing" tone. He held the empty glass carelessly in one hand as the bride and groom danced gracefully a few meters away. "It's no wonder that her dress isn't very form fitting. The child will be born in six and a half months." He frowned in his little brother's direction and said under his breath, "Leave now…and with dignity. In return, I will reassign you to a place where no one will ever bother you again."

The music began to swell and the couple continued to dance.

"Forever?" Yuuri asked as he watched the groom's handsome face. Could he really go on not seeing him? What a sad life that would be.

_Wolfram has felt this way, too, hasn't he?_

"Yes. It's for the best since you can't seem to let him go."

Yuuri turned to Gwendal in a flash. "Exiled… That's what this means."

A servant passed behind them and the general swiped a glass as the platter went by. Gwendal took a large gulp of his fresh drink, pruning his lips together as though not to his tastes. "I'd rather have that than to watch you pine over someone who cannot possibly return your feelings…someone who has an heir on the way…" He turned, straightening his shoulders as he did so, and gave a hard look. "There are times to advance and there are times to retreat." He placed a brotherly hand on a blue clad shoulder. "Please, Wolfram…let go while there is still a part of your soul left intact."

Yuuri shook his head. "Listen, Gwendal! Please! I know…I know that he doesn't want this. He couldn't possibly…"

Roughly, Gwendal took his baby brother by the arm and pulled him closer, to be more discrete. "Wolfram, please! The person who doesn't listen is you. The person who has relentlessly pursued Yuuri Heika is you. And the person who is standing here…like a fool…is you."

The nobles began to cheer at the end of the song.

"Okay, everyone!" Lady Cheri called out from somewhere. "It's time for streamers!"

Günter made his way through the multitude, encouraging everyone to join in. He opened his bag and began to toss the paper.

Somewhere, at some point, Gwendal had left him on his own. Yuuri looked to the left and right for him, but to no avail. Next, something light and soft fell on his head. He reached up a hand and pulled gently. _Paper?_

Carelessly, the nobles and the servants tossed streamers in the air. The shreds of paper began to fall and Yuuri felt as though he recognized them.

They were familiar.

The paper, the ink.

He opened his bag by tugging at the black ribbon only to discover long shreds of paper inside. He took a few and placed them side by side in his palm.

"The letter!" Yuuri breathed when he was able to make out what it was. "Wolfram's letter…in pieces."

It was raining curls of paper—falling, drifting—softly, softly.

The bride continued to dance but Wolfram simply stood there and allowed it. He ran his fingers very slowly through his bangs but made no other movement. He seemed exhausted.

"Eventide falls fast," the voice said casually, hovering to Yuuri's right. Surprised, he looked to see who it was.

The Maou spirit stood by Yuuri's side, dressed in Yuuri's black high school uniform. With broad shoulders and a more mature, squared chin, he seemed far too old to be dressed in such a fashion. But, to some degree, it seemed to suit him. His black hair was wind-swept and his dark eyes bore snakelike slits.

"You are…!" Yuuri recognized, totally blown away.

The Maou spirit nodded and looked as though he was enjoying the evening, resting his hands in his pockets and his posture nonchalant. "Thy other self am I." He smirked slightly. "Greetings, young sire."

"Then, maybe, you can help!" he realized, knowing that he was no longer alone. Looking directly up at the spirit, Yuuri clutched the blue uniform he was wearing and begged, "Please, I don't get it. I don't understand what's happening here. It doesn't make any kind of sense at all." Yuuri's nails dug in. "If you could only explain…"

"Thou…commands?"

Yuuri gave a pleading look. "Please?"

There was a brief pause, as though debating whether or not to get involved. But, Yuuri seemed troubled and determined. Giving in to his _other_, much younger _self_, the Maou spirit waved his hand across the scene as though pulling back a curtain.

The tinkling, glittering world inside the Grand Ballroom began to wind down. The new bride's dance now appeared as though performed under water—gentle movements, soft billowing of the dress. Even the streamers fell lethargically.

A servant with an empty silver serving tray passed them ploddingly and the Maou spirit took it from her. She never even noticed it happening.

Turning the shining surface to Yuuri, he said, "Verily, thou canst understand. See with thine own eyes."

Yuuri saw himself in the reflection of the silver platter. He had blond hair and green eyes. He was, in essence, Wolfram von Bielefeld.

He shook his head. Still, none of this made sense. "I don't get it! Wolfram, the last time I saw him, was…" He pointed to the groom on the dance floor and noticed that, somehow, Wolfram's face, hands, and torso had been slashed repeatedly. The dark lines began to shine a ruby red before running—blood coming down in tears.

Heedless, the bride danced and the nobles made merry. Greta was offering a bite of dessert to Conrad. Lady Cheri was speaking with Gwendal and Günter. Only Yuuri knew. Only Yuuri could see that Wolfram was bleeding, suffering.

"W-Wolf!" Yuuri shouted and tried to force his way through the throng but his arm yanked him back. He looked up into the angry face of The Maou spirit.

"Foolish child… Thou hast created this world. Hast thou the will to defy the very nature of this design?"

Yuuri, concerned for Wolfram, could barely put his thoughts together. He struggled feebly, making pathetic attempts at pulling his arm free. And, then, he realized it. "Wait…You're saying that…that I've done this? I've made this happen?"

Letting go, he chastised, "Thy mate aches o' grievous wounds…surely as Morgif had done the slaying." He patted Yuuri on the cheek with a cynical smile. "An' not all torments are o' the flesh, young sire."

Wolfram, bleeding profusely now from his back, collapsed in slow motion to the floor—a warm puddle of red leisurely spreading out from beneath his body. His life ebbed away as Yuuri watched.

"Wolf?" he called out in a panic. "Wolfram!"

Hurriedly, he returned to The Maou spirit, his only shred of hope. "Help... And if you can't help me, please help him!"

The spirit's only answer was another irritating smile.

Yuuri, frustrated, looked around frantically to see what had happened to the blond but found to his utter astonishment that this world had stopped like a clock—events and actions frozen in time. But Yuuri couldn't process it. Certainly not with Wolfram's eyes closed in eternal sleep.

"This…whatever _THIS_ happens to be…" he pleaded with the spirit. "…And however I did it in the first place…please help!"

"Thy wish is granted." He smirked with satisfaction as he faded into a mist. "But not without price."

And, with that, Yuuri startled himself awake. But, once he did so, he noticed something rough and scratchy in his palm—a single streamer which faded from his eyes as he watched.

* * *

When Wolfram opened his eyes, only a thin sliver of green could be seen. Conrad, who had been leaning against the wall with arms folded against his chest, saw Wolfram first—forcing himself to wake from his doldrums.

"Wolfram!"

Gwendal heard his younger brother's excited voice and turned, immediately, to the young blond Mazoku in the bed.

Yuuri, still sitting in the chair next to Wolfram, suddenly sprang to life—tilting his head to the side to see the ashen face more clearly. "Wolf?" he asked cautiously. "Wolf, we're here..."

The blond fire Mazoku turned his head slowly, painfully. The eyes remained lidded and he seemed not to hear anyone. It was only when Yuuri called his name again that Wolfram lifted his head up to him, opened his eyes wider, and blinked at his king stupidly.

Wolfram's eyes were mostly dark pupils, which frightened Yuuri when he saw dark eyes instead of shining emerald green. The more he stared, the harder it was for Yuuri to keep eye contact with him without grimacing. Yes, the bandages reeking of odd-smelling herbal mixtures were disturbing, but Wolfram watching him but not being _himself_ took "discomfort" to a whole new level. He was frail and vulnerable—lying in a strange bed all alone. There was the sudden, inexplicable urge to protect Wolfram, too. A primal thing Yuuri wasn't comfortable with. Never having experienced it before, he wasn't sure how to react to it.

"Gissela said that she had to use medications…for the pain," Conrad explained as gently as he could, trying to reassure both his godson and, possibly, his baby brother—if he was capable of comprehending at all.

"Would that medicine that Gissela wanted…" _and I approved of,_ the double black thought to himself "…help if we had some now?"

Conrad shrugged. "I wasn't aware that she put in a request form."

Gwendal took on a somewhat defensive posture. "I was aware…once Yuuri Heika signed the document…without discussing it first…" He shot his young king a sour expression. "…And gave his approval. But, even if we wrote to Caloria now, I'm not sure that it would do a lot of good."

"We'll ask Gissela anyway," Yuuri said decisively. "And I think it's for the best we start importing that herb…better yet, see if we can bring some of the plants here and grow them ourselves…in the greenhouse, if necessary."

_Yes, firm decisions and good ones,_ Yuuri thought. _…The kind of thing Wolfram would respect from a king. _

And he wanted Wolfram to respect him now. He was done with playing the role of "king" and letting advisers make all the decisions—whether directly or indirectly. He needed to take the reins. That point was crystal clear.

The double black turned his attention back to Wolfram. The young man in the bed was simply watching him with a serene expression on his face.

"We're doing our best," Yuuri assured, trying to sound encouraging and far more confident than what he really felt. The dream from before and, now this…

The pressure on him was mounting. But he could handle it. He had to.

"We definitely are," Conrad agreed, "Yuuri is absolutely right."

A frown appeared between Wolfram's eyes as he whispered the name "Yuuri" –as though trying it out for the first time on his lips. _"Y-u-u-r-i?"_

Shrinking from the glare that Gwendal was giving him, the double black turned to Wolfram with a smile that was a bit too wide, a bit too uncomfortable. Maybe, he hadn't changed so much after all. He could still feel the impact of Gwendal's moods.

"_Y-u-u-r-i?_" Wolfram whispered again but like a child this time.

A very lonely child.

But, from the expression, he could tell… He knew him. _Finally!_

Dark eyes rimmed in green filled with tears as he struggled to move his hand, open his fingers. "Please" he said as a sigh, asking him to hold his hand.

A final wish...

A haze of memory.

The one person he could ever have, but his heart called out for anyway…

"_Y-u-u-r-i_."

Before Gwendal could object, Yuuri grasped Wolfram's hand and held onto it. It was cold to the touch and weak. Wolfram was always so strong, so responsive.

_So unfair…_

Yuuri tightened his hand around Wolfram's, determined to make things better from this point on. He would be strong for both of them. He would give everything he could to help him get better. Do whatever it took. Anything, with the exception of leaving Wolfram alone right now.

No matter how much Gwendal wanted it, it wouldn't be granted.

The blond sighed in relief, not saying a word but simply tugging the hand closer to his heart—hugging it by placing it against his bandaged chest. And, within a few soft breaths, he had fallen into a deep, restful sleep.

"When you're done here, I want to have a talk with you…_Your Majesty_," Gwendal gruffed, more put out than ever before.

It was happening all over again. Yuuri was going to give his baby brother a heavy dose of "pity." But, instead of taking it at face value, Wolfram would interpret it as hope—hope that would keep this fallacy of a relationship going for, most likely, another year or two at best until Yuuri started running away again. But Gwendal had grown weary of the cat and mouse game. He would make them both see reason, if he could. Someone had to! And, once Wolfram was stronger, Gwendal intended to send him away—possibly to Voltaire Castle with the best healers and medicine money could buy, but, best of all, no Yuuri Heika to get in the way.

"I think I know what you're going to tell me," Yuuri said from his kneeling position by Wolfram's bed—the dream, once again, haunting his memory. "But, I know what it's like to be in Wolfram's shoes and..."

"_What?"_ Gwendal's eyes flashed, fists clinched. He got so angry so quickly that his head hurt. "Impossible!" he barked. "Impossible, I say!"

How dare he? There was absolutely no way that oblivious, inexperienced Yuuri Heika could understand _anything_ that Wolfram had been through. Unlike Yuuri, Wolfram was a soldier, a commanding officer. And he had been brutally attacked—from behind, no less—while in the service of his country. But, it was more than that. Yuuri's comment was deeply insulting because of the things this double black king had forced him to witness. How long had he watched his little brother try his best in front of the whole country…and fail? Grooming a king was no easy task. And Yuuri had a way of throwing tradition to the wind, oblivious as to whether or not others got caught up in it or how his actions harmed their reputations. Not to mention, Wolfram's shameless pursuit of Yuuri was, at times, absolutely painful to observe. And this was a hopeless case—as desperate and as fruitless as many first loves often are.

Wolfram mixed love and loyalty, devotion and desire—melding them until there was no separating the feelings.

When Wolfram von Bielefeld loved, he did it with his whole heart.

A pity for him, though.

Yuuri shook his head, remembering the dream and how impossibly alone he felt inside Wolfram's skin. Wolfram must have felt that, too, more than once. He just never complained in full detail or fell into destructive self-pity. Wolfram's letter showed how much the blond had struggled with himself to let go of a relationship that never was. And, when he couldn't do it, Wolfram simply tried to reinvent himself by finding his "place" in Shin Makoku—his purpose. But did he ever find it?

Probably, not.

"We will talk…mark my words," Gwendal promised, his voice low and deep even though Conrad had moved to his side, magic smile long since gone.

"He needs me," Yuuri defended.

Gwendal, as head of his household, stood his ground. "What my brother needs is…"

Conrad shook Gwendal's forearm. "Please…not here. Not like this." This was neither the time nor the place to fight over Wolfram. Even now, he wasn't out of the woods. Even now, his body was working hard just to stay alive. When Wolfram had been brought in, his medical care had exhausted three healers just in the first half hour. Now, all they could do was wait.

"This young one is in need of a boon, heated words at the bedside shall not heal," The Maou said with his eyes boring dangerously into Gwendal. He was now seated in the chair by Wolfram's bedside with the confidence and power of one who would rule over thousands of men.

Both Conrad and Gwendal stared incredulously. And, when Gissela suddenly stepped into the room, she quickly found herself backing into the nearest corner.

The Maou flashed a smile to her and continued with what he was doing. Without bothering to ask permission, he pulled down the covers and opened Wolfram's hospital gown which resembled a plain, white kimono design.

Wolfram's head fell to the side as The Maou opened the gown wide to reveal the heavily bandaged chest wound. His left hand hovered over the bandages and he concentrated for only a second. A green glow came forth, penetrating the bandages. The Maou spirit placed his right elbow on his knee and his cheek in his hand, watching the three other people in the room with him.

"Young is this little one," he said, slitted eyes looking into Gwendal's. "Sad and sweet…but heed the words I shall say unto you…" And there was more than a bit of arrogance hiding behind that smile now. "He may be of your house, Lord von Voltaire, but here lies my other self's beloved."

While he was grateful that The Maou had stepped in as a healer, Gwendal also felt a nagging resentment towards this very maou who had once dueled his brother and tried to slay him. And, unfortunately, there was nothing more he could do but say, "Those may be _your_ feelings, but Yuuri Heika doesn't share them. It would be best to…"

"Do not advise," The Maou warned, blue bands of power suddenly sliding over his body as the green glow slowly penetrated Wolfram's skin.

"Yuuri," Wolfram sighed. His body arched in the bed, mouth open slightly, eyes closed.

Gwendal turned from Wolfram to The Maou. He gathered his courage and tried again, for his brother's sake. "Please search Yuuri Heika's heart. You know this to be true." And, in the next second, a small water dragon surged forth from the water jug on the side table and splashed him across the face.

Pleased with himself, The Maou spirit cocked his head to the side, eyeing a dripping Gwendal owlishly to see if he would obey with only a small reprimand. "Speak against this once more and thou shalt understand _regret_."

Conrad took a half step forward as mediator. "Please, we're just trying to explain the situation." Even he knew that Yuuri and Wolfram were a hopeless case.

The Maou spirit disregarded Conrad's words entirely and, instead, returned his focus to the art of healing.

Gissela, on the other hand, could care less about family squabbles and royal dramas. She had a far more intriguing sight before her. With only one hand, The Maou was healing a critical patient—so much work, and finely detailed at that, with barely any concentration. What a totally remarkable sight! She both envied The Maou and cheered him on. This was, indeed, a privilege.

The Maou spirit tapped his fingers against his cheek, watching the faces of those around him. He was channeling the healing force between his fingers at a greater rate now. But, he kept the blue bands, though much thinner now, brushing across his skin as a reminder of his power. A slight breeze in the room picked up and pushed two sheets of paper off the solitary desk by the large windows. The quill was soon to follow as the small inkpot turned over. Regretfully, Gissela went to retrieve them before a mess was made.

The double black moved to take a seat on the edge of Wolfram's bed. He hovered both hands across Wolfram's wound, producing a glow that shifted from green to a shower of gold. And, when the blond opened his eyes, he placed a hand on Wolfram's brow. The dull eyes brightened—emeralds coming to life.

Exhausted and sleepy, Wolfram looked up and into the face of his king.

"Y-Yuuri?" he said, recognizing the maou form of his fiancé. Something important must have happened, he decided, in order for this powerful side of Yuuri to come out. Usually, The Maou stayed dormant, watching.

There was a true smile and a sexy, deep throated chuckle. "A noble heart…such as thine own…surely deserves…?" He touched the bandages with a soft, even motion—clearly indicating the work that he'd done.

Wolfram returned the smile. "Thank you."

His body still ached terribly, but the wound he'd received before blacking out no longer pained him so. The shock and horror of being torn into, of being split apart, had melted away from his consciousness. Now, he could barely remember what it was like.

"…It comes at a price," The Maou spirit said and Gwendal took another step forward, still dabbing his face with a handkerchief.

"What do you mean…?" Gwendal asked, trying to make it sound more like a question than a demand for information. He didn't want to bait The Maou, but his brother mattered to him very much.

The Maou looked over his shoulder, a defiant glare and one which spoke of punishment if he got in the way again. Gwendal, out of options, stepped back.

Even Wolfram, exhausted as he was, looked on curiously but with eyes drooping.

"And that price is…?" Conrad asked, concern overtaking him. This "aspect" of his godson had his own ideas of being "just and fair" which, sometimes, opposed Yuuri's wishes. But, at the moment, Conrad decided, the more prudent course of action would be to wait and see.

The Maou spirit turned back to Wolfram and cupped his cheek softly. He turned the face up as he leaned forward. Only in the last second did Wolfram fully grasp the situation as the maou brushed his thumb against his lower lip.

"Thy price…" he began.

_Dearest…"other" self within…_ The Maou said in his mind, making sure that Yuuri was there—that he was alert behind snake-like pupils.

"Is…remembering."

With blond hair spilling through his fingers, The Maou kissed Wolfram softly on the lips in full view of everyone in the room—not caring who saw because, in every way, Wolfram belonged with him; no, with _them_.

It took Wolfram's breath away and he could hear the gasps of his brothers in the room. By his own moral code, he knew that his reaction should have been embarrassment or, at least, astonishment. But, neither one happened. And, for the moments that remained, Wolfram gave in and allowed himself to play make believe—to return the kiss—to live the dream that some part of him was cherished above all others.

But, all too soon, dreams die and hopes fade…

For, he knew, this was Yuuri.

And this…would never last.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

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.

Behind The Maou's eyes, Yuuri watched.

He watched as Wolfram was healed, and he felt the art of weaving flesh together effortlessly—in loving, gentle waves. He watched and laughed as Gwendal got a face full of water for his disapproval. Yuuri understood why The Maou did it, but it was still funny. It would have been even more amusing had the person being splashed been his own brother, Shori, and not one of Wolfram's. But, somewhere along the way, Wolfram's brothers had become his own. So, maybe, Gwendal's frustrated expression as he dabbed water off of his dripping nose was really _really_ funny after all.

Yuuri could feel his head turn—looking back to Wolfram who was lying in the infirmary bed. And the young king fidgeted uncomfortably from embarrassment as The Maou cupped Wolfram's cheek softly, gazing into the face beneath him with affection. Yuuri had never done such a thing to anyone; moreover, the thought never even occurred to him to do it. That was the kind of confident thing a brave knight on a horse would do, not some ordinary Japanese kid like himself.

Yuuri could see Wolfram's face being gently turned up. Emerald eyes were tired but curious. Yuuri agreed. He didn't understand the sudden fondness, either.

_Why…?_

The green eyes Yuuri was looking into widened considerably as The Maou brushed his thumb against the lower lip.

_Y-You…can't be serious!_ Yuuri said to The Maou, now catching on_. He's weak, tired…still not well!_ Yuuri found himself struggling to take control again. _His brothers are here! You can't just do that kind of thing with them watching!_

"Thy price…" The Maou began.

_Dearest…"other" self within…_ The Maou said in his mind, making sure that Yuuri was there—that he was alert behind snake-like pupils.

"Is…remembering."

There was a subtle warmth as their faces drew close. Wolfram was still watching him, disbelieving at first. And, then, a gentle falling sensation. Their lips met—softly sliding against each other—a kind of resignation took over him and Wolfram, reluctantly, returned the kiss with eyes closed as his brothers gasped in shock somewhere in the background.

From somewhere, there was the sound of a drop of water splashing in a pool.

The scene bled to white and Yuuri found himself spinning, disoriented. He forced himself to blink a few times and put a hand to his head. Where was he now?

Still collecting his thoughts, Yuuri couldn't help but replay what had just happened, what he'd done, and what he'd allowed The Maou to do.

"Oh, no," he groaned.

The kiss with Wolfram… He felt unsettled, uneasy…ungrounded.

"You're too noisy, Shhh!"

Yuuri shrunk back into his chair when a paper wad bopped him in the head. Rubbing his right eyebrow, the double black blinked only to see a sour-faced, fifteen year old version of Gwendal sitting one row away.

Another wad hit Yuuri in the chest. He gaped at that and, then, ducked when another wad came whizzing. He just never imagined that he'd see such a thing. Not to mention, Gwendal was a pretty good shot.

A soft, whispering voice sounded familiar to Yuuri's ears. Turning his attention to the front of the room, he could make out Murata's profile. He was sitting on the front row, chatting up a pretty girl that looked like one of the shrine maidens Yuuri had seen sweeping the temple the previous week. On his other side was a teenage Conrad who had longer, somewhat messy, hair. A pretty girl with blue hair had his complete attention. She was offering him a necklace with a sparkling blue pendant. Gratefully, he took it.

Turning his head to the right and looking past Gwendal, he could see Anissina in her spring school uniform. The "heavenly zone" between her white knee socks and the skirt hem was unnaturally large and she crossed her legs in a sexy way once she noticed Yuuri's unblinking stare.

The double black swallowed thickly as Gwendal's attentions were drawn to this. "She's none of your business," Gwendal's frown said. So, as quickly as he could, Yuuri went back to his math exam.

The single sheet of paper was on his desk and Yuuri had the feeling that he'd been gone for a long time, missed every lecture, and, now, he had to pass this test or fail for the year.

His heart throbbed in his chest.

His hand could barely move.

"Maybe, writer's cramp," Yuuri mumbled lamely as he placed the pencil down and rubbed the skin on his right hand with small, circular motions.

Satisfied, Yuuri picked up the pencil again and managed to write his name at the top of the page. But, instead of Japanese, it was written in Mazoku. And, instead of the pencil being in his hand, it was his favorite quill. Surprised, the young double black stared at it.

There was an odd "thud" sound. Yuuri glanced up to see that there were three shabby, ground down pencils that had been launched at the suspended ceiling. An array of small holes were up there, too, showing previous "attempts."

Yuuri's eyes went from "up" to "down"—to the culprit.

_Gwendal?_

He glanced at Gwendal again. Apparently, he'd moved to the desk directly in front of Anissina where they were passing notes to each other. From the way Anissina was smiling, it was clear that they weren't sharing answers. And Gwendal seemed smug when the red haired girl placed a hand on his black-clad shoulder, leaned forward, and whispered something.

"I never knew they were like that," Yuuri mumbled to himself as he went back to the test.

The red second hand of the classroom's clock was gliding swiftly. He was running out of time.

On the exam paper, Yuuri was able to read the detailed questions and directions. But, by the end, the information had slipped out of his mind like sand and he was forced to start all over again.

When a pencil hit the floor, Yuuri looked up. It was Wolfram, the pencil rolling next to his desk. The whole time, Wolfram had been sitting in the desk in front of him and he'd never even noticed.

It was a surprise—a good one!

Yuuri grinned widely. He had the sudden urge to say something to him—to tap him on the shoulder and greet him, anything to get his attention. Yuuri started to, but he didn't follow through. For, as he leaned forward, Yuuri could see that Wolfram had his elbow on the desk and his cheek in his hand. Green eyes were looking out the window at the blue sky which was gathering dark, charcoal clouds.

On the desk, the completed test paper changed color—from crisp white to yellowed parchment. And the mathematical symbols twisted and rearranged themselves into inked words.

Wolfram's letter, again. And the words "Anywhere but here" were carved into the surface of the desk. Wolfram had done it with the pencil and, when finished, he simply let the thing fall uselessly onto the floor.

With a quick rattle of the knob, the door to the room opened and Greta skipped in. Yuuri, still concerned about the blond sitting in front of him, was hesitant to think of anything else. But the adorable sight of Greta in her Japanese elementary school uniform won him over.

"Ummm…everyone?" she said in a slightly hesitant voice. "Sensei asked me to pick up all of the makeup tests. Could you pass them forward, please?"

There was a brief shuffling of papers and Yuuri looked down to his sheet. He'd answered all of his test questions with the word "pancake."

His chances of passing were nil.

With one last sweeping glance of the room, Greta took her small collection of papers and skipped off. At the door, she met up with a tall man in a dark blue suit and red tie. She offered the papers—holding them out with both hands out of respect. After receiving a soft pat on the head, she went on her merry way, skipping down the hall.

Yuuri immediately recognized Sensei. "It's…you!" he said incredulously.

With a smug grin, The Maou sat on the edge of his desk, plopping the papers down next to him. One by one, Yuuri's classmates faded into a fine, pearly mist and disappeared. Only Wolfram was left, his eyes never leaving the window and the piece of sky captured within it.

"This is another one of those…" Yuuri snapped his fingers, trying to remember.

"Dream-vision," The Maou helped him.

The young double black scratched his chin. "This is how we can talk to each other, right?"

The Maou thought upon it and answered vaguely "in a fashion." Apparently, there were other ways, too.

"You know, that's not very helpful," Yuuri said evenly, standing from his chair and approaching the spirit.

"Help?" He lifted his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Thou seeks aid once more?"

Yuuri frowned at him. "I'm just trying to figure things out…see things clearly." And, then a memory flashed before him: blond hair, green eyes, lips meeting. "And, speaking of '_see_,' I can't believe that you…that _WE_ kissed Wolfram!" He pointed a finger at the lone figure at the desk. "He will totally misinterpret everything that happened. Do you see that? And, then, you mention something about a 'price.' Why?"

Like a tiger, Yuuri began to pace. "Right now, I'm sure that he thinks the kiss is the price he had to pay in order to be healed." He stopped fretting and glared at The Maou. "That's…That's horrible!"

"A young monarch orders aid be rendered…and, thus, it was…"

Yuuri shook his head. "Look, I know that in the last… 'dream-vision'…I asked for help, but I just wanted out of the dream. It wasn't real, right?" He motioned to everything around him. "Come to think of it… This…isn't real, either." Although, as a copy, Yuuri had to admit that the room certainly did have the feel of his homeroom class: the musty smell on a humid day, the dusty chalkboard, the texture of the well-nibbled pencil in his hand before it transformed itself into a quill…

"Tis real enough…what was, what is, what will be…dreamed into one…" Snakelike pupils looked at Yuuri with a hard edge coming to them. "But a lie? Never."

Not understanding, Yuuri had to fight to keep from grinding his teeth. "Look, in this class, Gwendal and Anissina are suddenly my age again. That can't be. And Murata was in here, too. This is homeroom but we're taking math exams." He turned his attention to Wolfram again. "And none of these people have ever been in school with me, so…"

"Time and place have no meaning in such _an Earth_ as this," The Maou countered, "..another world of thy creation."

"Of…thy…?" Yuuri's jaw dropped a little. "You mean…I'm the one doing these things…?"

A slight, boyish shrug came from The Maou. "A monarch commands…and the world is reborn or shaped…young water wielder."

Chiming came from somewhere, signaling the end of class. Wolfram reached under his desk and took his things. But, instead of a stack of books, he retrieved a blue uniform with boots, a saber belt, and, from the corner of the room, a military sword.

Before the blond could go much further, Yuuri stepped quickly up to him with a firmly said "Wolfram?" After which, he placed a hand on his shoulder.

The ex-prince's attention, for the moment, was on the possessions he was carrying. It was only the weight of the touch which drew notice. Then, he squinted at Yuuri, as though waking. "Y-Yuuri?"

The double black smiled in relief. "Yes, it's me…I really need to explain something to you…and, probably again, once I wake up… It's that…"

Wolfram shook his head "no," and glanced down at his belongings. "There's no point anymore… It's all ruined."

"Wha-?" Curiously, Yuuri looked at the uniform Wolfram was holding. It was bloody and ripped—more like rags, now, than the proud uniform it once was. The boots were ripped and shredded. The sword was tarnished and in great need of repair.

"Thy mate aches o' grievous wounds…surely as Morgif had done the slaying," The Maou repeated from the last dream-vision.

"I know, I know…! You keep saying that!" Yuuri said hotly, now losing his temper. "But the price was for _me_ to remember something…and that something, you decided, would be a kiss!" He wrapped an arm around Wolfram's shoulder protectively, side by side now. "But, he thinks he had to pay for being healed with a kiss." Yuuri narrowed his eyes at The Maou. "Now, the trouble is, I don't even know what kind of face to show Wolfram the next time we meet."

"Lay siege to honesty…more like," The Maou remarked as he fiddled with his tie idly. Yuuri's constant clueless bumbling was beginning to bore him. How many times would he be called upon to help only to have the young king misunderstand or totally disregard his sage advice?

Yuuri sighed and leaned his head against Wolfram's shoulder. "Half the time, I think I know what you're saying and, then…I suddenly don't." His face fell into a fatigued frown. "It just feels like nothing good is happening."

The Maou simply shook his head at the words and the world bleached itself to white again.

They were both tired of each other.

Yuuri blinked. He was in a room which smelled strongly of disinfectant. And there were so many shades of white. "Fuzzy…" He ran his fingers through his hair shakily, trying to piece everything together.

"About time you woke up," Wolfram said, his head turned in Yuuri's direction. "You slept for a day and a half this time."

Yuuri sat up in the bed, blankets pooled around him. "I…uh…" He gave his surroundings a good look this time. He was still in the infirmary. His bed—he had one now—was the one next to Wolfram's.

The blond frowned at him. "You healed me. But, you used too much power and… _fell_…on top of me after…" The blond wasn't going to say it and he knew that Yuuri understood what he was hinting at. Why go on?

The young double black felt his cheeks flush. Wolfram had referred to their shared kiss so soon, maybe even too soon, after him waking. But of course, he would! And, if that wasn't bad enough, apparently, he had fallen "on top of" Wolfram right after the kiss. Had The Maou planned that, too? The double black got a sudden, all too real, image in his head of collapsing on top of Wolfram, pinning his frail body to the bed in front an astonished Gwendal and Conrad.

Mortified, Yuuri put a hand to his aching head. "I see…"

Now, there was the sudden urge to check himself for injuries. Gwendal must have gone ballistic after witnessing _that_ right after the kiss!

Yuuri turned in the bed and looked at Wolfram's face. In spite of everything, it was good to have him back—to know that he would make it, that he would be a part of his life and adventures. A pleasant, homey feeling was spreading through him, thinking of what they would share now that the threat of death no longer loomed.

Sitting up in the bed made it easy for Wolfram to see Yuuri's expressions. And the green eyes stared at him incredulously. "You…" He couldn't believe it. But it was true—no mistaking it! "You…opened the letter, didn't you?"

It was the only explanation.

Yuuri lowered his head. "I…uh…"

"You did," Wolfram whispered with disgust. "You knew that you were only supposed to open it if I didn't return. But, instead, you opened it."

Yuuri lifted his head. "No, Wolf. You didn't return. You didn't come back on your own." He watched the disappointment and anger continue to well up in Wolfram as he spoke. It compelled him to go on with "Don't you understand? Your men brought you back! The medic in your unit almost used up every ounce of magic in him just to slow the bleeding. You didn't see how Gwendal came rushing out the castle only to take you into his arms and bring you inside. There was blood all over him, his uniform, your uniform, and the floor." Yuuri's eyes clinched shut for a moment. "The floor was red. People were crying."

But Wolfram still looked angry. He still looked betrayed. "But, you should not have opened that!"

Something inside of Yuuri snapped. Why wouldn't Wolfram listen? In fact, he almost never listened—no matter how good the reason! Yuuri narrowed his eyes feeling entirely justified in saying, "It was addressed to me! I can open a letter addressed to me if I want."

Wolfram's fingers were holding onto the blankets, knuckles white. He was so angry. "I trusted you! I believed that you would keep your word."

"I'm sorry Wolf!" Yuuri returned in a tone that said exactly the opposite. "But I needed to know what you wouldn't tell me in person!"

"Wouldn't tell you?" the blond fumed. "If you'd just opened your eyes for once…!"

"And talk about what? Our engagement?" Yuuri shot back. "That's all you ever talk about!" Yuuri leaned threateningly in Wolfram's direction. "If you really love someone, you don't act like you own them! You let them be who they are!"

Incensed, Wolfram snapped his fingers and an ember-coated fireball the size of a cricket ball came forth with a deep "huff." But, almost instantly, he regretted it. Not able to control the flame, it sparked up dangerously in his palm and then, just as quickly, died in a pathetic charcoal colored smoke ring.

Tears came to Wolfram's eyes and he fought for breath. Not even bothering to see that the flames were totally extinguished, he'd put a hand across his eyes.

Light headed. Too much magic gone. Sick. He was going to be sick to his stomach in the next second if something didn't happen.

"Wolf?" Yuuri said, leaving his bed and going over to Wolfram's. "Are you okay?"

The blond was sitting ramrod straight in the bed. One hand was clamped over his mouth and his breathing was labored. It was at the point where he was drooling uncontrollably that Wolfram knew he was beyond the point of no return. And, from sailing with Wolfram enough times, Yuuri saw the signs. The double black quickly pulled out the chamber pot from under the bed, removed the lid, and repositioned it. Before Yuuri could say, "Here, just get it over with," Wolfram had leaned over with dry heaves.

The room was filled with coughs, gasps, and half-choked gags. And, inwardly, the double black cringed.

Feeling guilty, Yuuri sat next to Wolfram on the bed and rubbed his back in gentle circles. Nothing was coming out of Wolfram but it didn't have to in order to make the blond totally miserable.

Their argument had done this. And Yuuri knew that he had to take some measure of responsibility.

Showing kindness was the first step.

"Sorry, Wolf," he said soothingly. "I never intended for this to happen…or I would have avoided this talk for awhile." He rubbed Wolfram's back a little more. "But, I'm not sorry for reading the letter. I won't lie to you about that."

Wolfram's body, even bent over as it was, seemed to stiffen. Yuuri accepted it as an honest reaction, if nothing else.

The blond forced himself away from the chamber pot.

"Now, Wolf, I know how it is…how you see things…"

Harshly, Wolfram wiped away tears with the back of his hand. He was both physically and emotionally spent. And he wasn't sure which one was worse. "I'm still furious with you, Yuuri…really, really angry…but…but…" He found himself sitting up more and, then, leaning to one side. He curled his feet up next to him—using his right hand to move his right leg when it didn't respond well enough. "In truth, I suppose…it's nothing that I haven't let on before…"

They both knew.

Yuuri gave a small hum of agreement as he pushed the fluffy pillow aside to sit beside the blond. "Can you answer a question for me, though?"

Shoulders touched.

Wolfram shrugged a "What?" and wiped his wet face with the back of his hand again.

"You wrote more than one letter. Were they all the same...or different?"

"Oh…that…" The blond stared straight ahead of him, shining eyes on the window. Yuuri noticed it and gave a soft nudge when Wolfram didn't answer right away. Maybe, he was collecting his thoughts. Or, possibly, he was stalling for time.

"Well?"

With resignation, Wolfram glanced at Yuuri and then down at the floor. "They were all the same…because nothing between us ever changed."

The words hung heavily in the air.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri whispered, leaning over and giving Wolfram a hug. That's what he felt like doing—an instinct, really—but he didn't have the faintest idea of how to begin making things up to him. Everything that they were to each other—from their feelings, their bizarre history, their sense of "normal" etc—was so mixed up and out of kilter that it seemed impossible to know where to go from here.

Being held was no comfort.

Tired. Wolfram was tired…maybe, of everything. He didn't know anymore. But, one thing he was absolutely certain of, this whole conversation wasn't making him feel any better. And, on top of that, Yuuri seemed to be clinging to him.

Too much.

"I don't deserve this." Wolfram's voice was hollow. It seemed as though some part of him had simply burned out.

"Wolf," Yuuri said, holding him tighter, gently prodding for a response. Wolfram's words weren't clear. He just couldn't grasp the meaning of them.

The blond shrugged. "Kiss me. Don't kiss me. You run. I follow. I can feel…I can't feel…Body sluggish… I'm really tired and I can't even wield my own element without getting sick." He looked at his empty palm. "My magic's too low and the medicine still makes me feel…thick in the head."

The infirmary door opened and Conrad walked in. At first, he was more than pleasantly surprised. But, then, he saw Wolfram's profile and knew in an instant that something had gone terribly wrong.

Wolfram turned and gave his Little Big Brother a pained look. It was an expression which he'd had decades of reading and interpreting. It said, "Help me get away from him."

Conrad gave an almost imperceptible nod and Wolfram's head drooped in relief.

"Heika, there's…"

Yuuri suddenly noticed Conrad and let go of Wolfram with a slight apple blush. As a brother who had seen the kiss and had witnessed him on top of Wolfram, Conrad might have been well within his rights to be annoyed or even angry.

"Not 'heika,'… It's…uh…Yuuri. You named me after all."

Conrad smiled agreeably. "Of course, Yuuri." He cocked his head to the side again to see how Wolfram was doing. Going back to his godson, he said, "Excuse me but the reason why I have come is to see if you are awake. And, if so, ask you to get ready to greet your guests in an hour."

Yuuri scratched his head. "Guests?"

"Today, Charles von Hoff is coming to the castle…remember? He owns a small but highly profitable fleet of ships and is a major leader in commerce. His business dealings have helped Shin Makoku's economy greatly. And, ultimately, economic power leads to political power."

To Yuuri, the words "commerce" and "economy" were just a lot of blah, blah, blah. But, still, if this citizen of the country had such an enormous impact, he was more than willing to be a gracious host.

"You have to go now," Wolfram said, giving Yuuri's arm a pat. "It would be impolite to keep such an important man waiting." And when Yuuri seemed uncertain, Wolfram followed it up with "We can talk later."

As he knew they would.

Yuuri got to his feet and gave Wolfram a last, sidelong glance on his way out. "Yeah, we'll talk… Count on it."

The door closed and Wolfram relaxed in the bed a little. "That doesn't mean that I'll look forward to it."

* * *

An hour later, Yuuri was escorted to a small meeting room with Günter, Conrad, Gwendal, and Lady Cheri in tow. The room was decorated with fresh flowers and, in the center of the table, a pleasant spread of snacks and drinks.

Upon Yuuri entering, those already waiting in the room stood out of respect for their king and, as one, bowed. Günter took it upon himself to do the introductions. "Your Majesty," he said proudly, "this is Charles von Hoff and his assistant, Alfred Dimsley." He gestured to two middle aged Mazoku who could have been mistaken for twins—with the exception that Charles von Hoff had very ashy brown-blonde hair.

_They must go to the same tailor_, Yuuri mused.

"And this is Klein Eisen, Chief Consultant," Günter motioned to a dark blue haired man with a medium build, thick glasses, and a brown mole on his left cheek. "…As well as Chief Accountant, Nacht Metzger." The little Mazoku with thinning lemon yellow hair, an out of fashion suit of clothes, and monocle turned his piggy little face up at Yuuri. The double black didn't know whether or not to laugh.

A soft cough met Günter's ears and he knew that it was time to get to the final guest…someone quite eager to meet and greet the Great Demon King of Shin Makoku.

With a sweeping gesture, Günter motioned. "And, last but not least… Charles von Hoff's oldest daughter, Amanda."

"Amanda?" Yuuri parroted dumbly and turned with his hand extended without even realizing what he was doing.

Gladly, she took it.

Standing across the table from him was a young, blond Mazoku woman who had a slim build, a doll-like face, and form fitting peach colored dress with expensive lace at the throat and sleeves. Her seafoam eyes took in everything about Yuuri and, clearly, she liked what she saw.

_The girl from my dream-vision? The one Wolfram…I mean…I...married? _Yuuri thought nervously.

"Have you met before, Yuuri Heika?" Lady Cheri asked with a sexy wink in his direction. Amanda von Hoff has been a family friend since her toddler days. She's Wolfram's age, you know."

At the mention of her son's name, Yuuri stammered a "no' to Lady Cheri. But the smirk that Amanda gave him spoke volumes and, oddly, mirrored one exactly like Wolfram's—expecially when he was getting something he wanted badly.

"Pleased to meet you, My King," Amanda said with controled excitement, giving a curtsey that was both low and proper.

"And, now," her father interrupted with a sense of self-importance, "we should not take up too much of Yuuri Heika's time today."

"Yes, yes," Günter agreed, "after all. There will be pleanty of time. You'll be staying in the castle for a month while we discuss trade, taxation, and the economy."

_Wait! A__ whole month?_ Yuuri thought, trying not to fidget. _A month with…her?_

From across the table, Amanda smiled cutely and Yuuri felt his stomach drop. This was not going to be good. Somehow, he just knew it. And, he'd get blamed. Yes, blamed.

"Shall we sit down and have some refreshments?" Lady Cheri asked the room.

Everyone agreed and there was the sound of chairs being pulled back by uniformed servants who had been waiting to be of service. Yuuri sat there in stunned silence as a servant took his cup and filled it with sparkling blackberry wine.

_Amanda?_

He glanced at her and she smiled into her drink, taking a tiny sip.

_I'm sure she's really nice and all…_

Cutely, the blond nibbled on a cucumber sandwich. A dab at her pale lips. She seemed to be saying something about how delicious it was. All Yuuri could do was nod as the murmur of the voices in the room died away. And, Yuuri gulped down part of his drink without ever tasting it.

_I'm just not sure about this feeling I've got… What is it?__ What does it mean?_

* * *

The next week kept Yuuri very busy. Other economic leaders in Shin Makoku had come for Günter's conference. It was a good chance for Yuuri to meet some of the powerful but _non-noble_ families in the country. And, in turn, they enjoyed the hospitality of the castle as well and the status of "advisor to the king" being added to their reputations.

It would be good for business.

Günter even suggested the possibility of making some sort of plaque or notice which said that a certain big commercial business was supported by the king. Yuuri dismissed that idea, though, because he didn't want more letters begging for approval. He had enough paperwork to deal with.

Yuuri walked down the hallway, keeping his head down and his shoulders squared. It was almost like being in high school again. The hallways were crowded. But, instead of having a lot of students relatively the same age wearing identical uniforms, there was a wide rainbow of colors, styles, shapes, and sizes—all inexperienced with the castle layout—and all going to and fro.

Just for the sake of getting around easier, Conrad had eight of his most trusted men on call, both day and night, just to escort Yuuri from place to place on his regular schedule. If not, nothing got done.

The conference attendees who had come to Blood Pledge Castle had brought with them their wives, children, and servants. And, very quickly, they learned that the young king was very friendly. He'd talk to anyone. And, before anyone knew it, more than twenty minutes had passed and the hallway was congested with people just standing around. This made Conrad uneasy, too, as the thought of an assassin or someone disloyal to the crown getting so close posed some possibly lethal situations. Thus, the need for Yuuri to have at least two guards with him—one at the front and one at the back. The guards in the hallway helped, too. A call would be made that "His Majesty Approaches." Following that, all of the guards in that particular hall would suddenly stand to attention, and Yuuri would make his way forward.

Did he like the sudden pomp and circumstance? No.

Did he accept it in the short-term? Yes.

One thing that made it easier—and Yuuri tried to think of it as "easier"—was the fact that this week kept him so busy that he had no time to obsess over the sudden appearance of Amanda von Hoff. She did make her presence known, though, the few times when she happened to be in a hallway he was passing through. She'd call his name and wave a lace hankie as he went by. The girlish "wave" looked like the Japanese "come here" gesture. But, Yuuri tried to remind himself that this was another culture and their ways, and gestures, were quite different from his own. In return, he gave a vague smile to her and continued on.

With Conrad at his back, and remembering the kiss he shared with Wolfram, Yuuri thought it best to just keep marching down the hallway with the rest of his guards.

Yes, this was definitely no fun and he couldn't wait for the conference to be over. Yuuri was a creature of routine. And, for the next few weeks, his routine was going to be out of whack and uncomfortable. Silently, he prayed for the days to pass quickly and uneventfully.

Unfortunately, his wish wasn't going to be granted.

* * *

Wearing a pair of light blue shorts that Yuuri's mother, Jennifer, had bought him, Wolfram buckled on the new leather and steel leg brace Anissina had designed. The injury behind his right knee had healed as well as could be expected. But, now, thanks to the butchery of Jaeger Barth, Wolfram had this new challenge to face—trying to walk again.

The brace wrapped his upper thigh in tight brown leather. There was a much narrower strip on his shin. On either side of his leg, metal rods came down and there was a place where the brace was designed to catch under his heel. So, inside or out, he would have to wear boots or shoes.

Wolfram finished the task and did his level best not to throw Gwendal a hesitant look. Besides Gissela, Gwendal was the only person he wanted in the room. Yes, some part of him needed—craved—to have Yuuri's support and confidence. But, right now, the last thing he could handle was a cheery "Do your best!" or "We are with you!" Or, maybe, it was pity that he feared—a look in those raven eyes that would haunt him.

The reality was, it wasn't a "we." The reality was that Wolfram would have to do this on his own. And, if that was the case, he would pull himself up by his own bootstraps and just get on with it.

"Okay, let's give it a try," Gissela suggested.

Wolfram gave a curt nod, steeling himself for what he was about to do. He stood with the majority of his weight on his left leg. He hopped a little with arms stretched out at his sides, trying to get himself in position for walking in the direction he wanted.

Making eye contact with Gwendal and getting a confirming shake of the head that it looked good to proceed, Wolfram took a hesitant step forward with his right leg.

The first time he put weight on it, he felt pain. The leg seemed weak and the muscles hurt—cramping and stretching, oddly, at the same time. He grimaced and hoped that the left leg would give enough relief for him to withstand the second step on his right leg. But the pain was too much—growing now, almost with a "ringing" sensation that he never thought possible. And he could feel himself buckling under, falling forward.

Unable to stop himself…just as the door opened.

"Wolf? I was wondering if we could have that talk now."

Black eyes widened in astonishment as Yuuri saw Wolfram fall against Gissela and cling to her.

With an "Oof!" the healer grabbed onto the blond and turned to Gwendal for support. Easily, he took his brother into his arms.

Wolfram buried his face into Gwendal's shoulder hissing, "Leg…! My leg! Still hurts! Put me back!" His nails dug into the material in Gwendal's green uniform.

Gwendal, concerned, immediately did as he was told. He put the lithe body down in a single, sweeping motion.

Feeling the bed beneath him and the support it brought, the blond sighed with relief. He was breathing hard and trying to decide whether this "walking thing" was really worth it or not.

Yuuri turned to Gwendal and Gissela saying, "I had no idea Wolfram would be doing this today. I mean…" He frowned at the blond with concern. "I would have been glad to be here for moral support."

Wolfram covered his eyes with his arm, blocking out the light in the room. "I'm fine. Nothing I can't handle," he huffed. And he meant it, too.

He was fine. He would make it fine—somehow.

"I am in agreement," Gissela said with a smile. "He did a fantastic job for the first time getting up. We'll need more practice, though."

Wolfram groaned and the healer took that as some sort of agreement. Gwendal raised an eyebrow but found that Gissela's confidence had easily won him over.

"How long?" Yuuri asked abruptly. This was something he was curious about. "How long will he need to wear this?" Maybe, someone had asked this before now, but he didn't know.

Gissela's smile disappeared. It was something that she was hoping that would be asked later on—much later on—once Wolfram had mastered the brace and could walk with it.

"It's uncertain," she responded. "But, what is certain is that he will probably need a walking stick, too." She looked at Gwendal, her eyes encouraging him to be supportive in this situation. "I'll ask Lady Cheri to come up with something special…or should I go to Anissina?"

But, of course, she knew the answer.

"Mother's sense of taste is something I can live with," Wolfram said, forcing himself to sit up in the bed. "Anissina will probably design a cane that slices, dices, and juliennes potatoes."

Gwendal actually cracked a smile at that. It felt good to see Wolfram's sense of humor return. It more closely resembled the way Wolfram was before he met Yuuri. But, at the moment, he would take it over the cheerless and unresponsive person Wolfram had been for awhile now.

He rubbed blond locks in an affectionate way. It had been decades since he'd done it, but Wolfram responded with a short but wry smirk.

Just like old times…

"You'll get through this. I have no doubts," he said and gave quick "goodbyes" as he left for his next appointment.

Yuuri approached Wolfram's bed and took the chair next to it. Gissela watched the two of them together for a moment, assessing the situation. Then, she turned and made a silent exit—hoping that leaving them alone would do Wolfram some good.

"Walking again, huh?" Yuuri said as he eyed the brace. The design seemed to be done with Anissina's exact precision.

"Trying to," Wolfram muttered.

With Yuuri here, it was making the task more difficult, more stressful. But it just meant trying harder. He was doing his best to make everything okay, or, at least, seem okay. Deep inside, though, he was feeling angry and frustrated with himself_. Two steps! Two! _That was all that he could do on his first try.

He wanted more. Craved it.

_Still, everyone seemed pleased_, he told himself. And it was easier to please them than to do what he really wanted—to scream at the world and to, personally, fry Jaeger Barth into ashes. He had been fantasizing about doing it to the point where he could almost see it happening. But, apparently, Chadwick had saved him the bother. And, from overhearing the guards chatting in the hallway, the job had been done so expertly that only the bones were left to turn over to the family.

But Wolfram had wanted those gone, too.

"You did good job…" Yuuri said, slightly concerned about Wolfram's vacant expression, and added a little impishly, "…you also did a good job falling on Gissela, too."

That got his attention.

Wolfram raised an eyebrow. "You're not saying that I was all over her, are you? It wasn't as though I was groping her." He folded his arms and turned his head away with a boyish "humph."

Yuuri chuckled a little. "I know that but…it still seemed weird."

Slowly, Wolfram turned back. "Don't pretend to be jealous. It doesn't suit you." Yuuri was just saying this—subtly suggesting that he let go and switch to a woman. Any woman. And, while Wolfram knew that he was attracted to certain types of females, Gissela was, definitely, not one of them. She was practically a sister.

Yuuri's jaw dropped a little. "I…I…uh… I wasn't. Seriously!"

Wolfram nodded with fatigue, losing interest in their usual tug-of-war. "Yes, I know… You would never be."

But the words had that kind of vague double meaning that was becoming habit for Wolfram and a new annoyance for Yuuri. In this case, though, he'd take it literally.

The double black pouted. "Then, why say that in the first place?"

Wolfram gave a sincere look. "Maybe, someday, you'll figure it out."

Yuuri leaned back, making himself more comfortable in the chair. He thought of The Maou and all of the hints and strange things he'd been saying. "I've been having that problem lately….trying to figure things out."

"Then, I wish you luck," Wolfram said as he began to unbuckle the brace on his leg.

"Wait!"

"Huh?"

Yuuri glanced away, feeling shy all of a sudden. "I can help you with that, you know."

Wolfram shook his head and continued. "This is something I can do on my own."

One buckle open. The next. The next. And, then, further down, one more. Wolfram pulled and removed the restrictive device from his leg. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine on my own."

"But, you're not alone," the double black grumped lowly.

_Typical Yuuri._

The blond nodded. "But, you're not me, either."

* * *

He fell on Gwendal six more times.

Did it hurt his ego? Yes.

Did an injured ego kill him? No.

It took another two weeks but Wolfram managed to grow accustomed to his brace. He'd gotten a new walking stick from his mother—a dark brown, almost black, cane with a gold handle in the shape of a dragon. The wings made the curved part of the cane and seemed to suit Wolfram's restless heart well.

He couldn't wait to get back on his horse, the way he usually handled his agitations so that no one would take notice. Too bad that Gissela said, "No horseback riding for another two months." The last thing she wanted was for him to fall and injure himself further.

Still, that wouldn't stop him from going to the stables and visiting with his favorite white steed. It felt like it had been ages.

Limping badly, Wolfram made it half way down the first hallway before the fatigue set in. Now, he truly needed a place to sit down and take a rest. But, the crowded hallway made everything feel like it was going in slow motion and there was not a bench in sight.

But, there was a door.

Wolfram took it and found himself out one of the side doors and along a path leading to the kitchen's private vegetable garden. Okay, there was a wicker chair and he could sit here. Wolfram only hoped that no one would notice because it would cause a stir. Actually, whenever he showed his face around the castle, it caused one: "Oh, Lord von Bielefeld! You're up and around!" and "Wolfram, how are you feeling?" and "Wolfie! Have you eaten your vegetables?"

Vegetables? No, but he could see them now. He just didn't have much of an appetite these days. And, truly, he just wanted to be left alone.

"Oh, Lord von Bielefeld," Doria said, wiping her hands off on her apron. She was in the middle of preparing lunch. "I didn't know you were out here. Can I get you anything?"

Wolfram thought about it and then smirked. He tapped his walking stick by his side and said, "Yes, I'd like a potato. I have the sudden urge to juliennes."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Disclaimer**:

Just a quick note and a friendly reminder… What I post here is a hobby. As I clearly state on my profile page: "When it comes to my stuff, please remember that what I write is just for fun. Take none of it seriously, okay?" And I will not change my view on this. So, if I bore the pants off of you, please switch to another fic. Good luck and have a great day~ *grin*

* * *

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Chapter 6

.

Yuuri found himself lying in the bed, staring up at the green canopy. It had been a long day—nothing but meetings, food he wasn't particularly fond of, and more paperwork than he could have imagined previously.

But it was over. The day was over. And that, alone, was a small but welcomed reprieve.

He stretched and reached his arms out as far as he could until the back of his hand brushed up against something soft.

He reached out for it.

It was a pillow, but not one that he recognized. And it was definitely not something Wolfram would own. Curiously, he picked up the pale pink satin pillow and examined the delicately ruffled edges. The beadwork was intricate with tiny cultured pearls. And, he couldn't resist touching one only to have it glisten back in muted colors.

"Do you like it?"

He looked over, astounded.

"Amanda!" Yuuri gasped the name. For the life of him, he couldn't understand how the female Mazoku had snuck in without the guards noticing. Then again, Wolfram had managed it all the time without much trouble.

For the briefest of seconds, he considered explaining that it was late and that he wanted to go to sleep. But, as she approached the bed, she opened her sheer dressing gown to reveal her thin, ivory night dress—which was mostly lace stitched together. Skin peeked through in the most enticing places. It was like one of Shori's dating sims set on week number three.

Nervously, Yuuri got out of bed and approached her, palms out in a placating gesture. He was trying to be a gentleman about it, really. Turning someone down was difficult enough, but he didn't want the whole castle to hear should she become insulted. But, before Yuuri could utter a single word, she had lightly stepped up to him, stood on tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his.

Yuuri's black eyes widened. _A kiss! A real kiss!_

She pressed harder, encouraging him. A gentle prodding of the tongue. With her teeth, she tugged at his bottom lip. Yuuri closed his eyes, now kissing back. He was curious, some part of him needing to know what it would be like to go on.

Amanda broke them apart and then moved in again, kissing warmly—gently guiding him along.

"So good," he sighed, going back for another kiss. Wet, warm, sliding, moving…

Amanda's arms wound around his shoulders and she forced his mouth to widen—gently pushing her tongue in and waiting for him to respond.

Yes, a deeper kiss and Yuuri found himself liking it, returning it with fervor. He also liked Amanda's curves and the sweet little hum in the back of her throat when he did something she liked—such as when he placed his hands at her waist.

Their bodies pressed together, heat between them.

A sudden knock at the door snapped Yuuri's mind back. "Someone!" he hissed in a panicked tone after pulling away, reluctantly, from Amanda. She, on the other hand, didn't mind it a bit. Instead, she continued to hold Yuuri. And, when that wasn't enough, she undressed, letting the lace gown hit the floor, and found her way into the bed—on Wolfram's side.

Yuuri swallowed thickly. How would he explain this?

Another three knocks.

Amanda pulled the sheets over her petit breasts. She motioned for him to come to her. And it would be so easy to give in.

Three more knocks, but heavier this time.

Yuuri looked at the door and fretted, "What if that's Conrad or Gwendal checking up on me?" Then, approaching the door, he worried out loud, "What if it's Wolfram? He moved back into his old room ages ago, but he's better now. If he sees this…"

Another knock, much louder. If Yuuri didn't answer, the whole castle might wake.

"W-Wolf? Is that you?"

_Please, don't be you…!_

With a shaking hand, Yuuri rattled the door open.

"Uhhh…Y-Yes?"

Standing on the other side were two young Mazoku women—both brunettes with hair done up with white silk ribbons. The one on the right had a light blue dress which matched her fan to perfection while the other wore a midnight blue dress which matched her satiny handbag.

The double black felt a little bit of relief. But, still, these were unexpected visitors to his room in the night. He looked closer and recognized them from the tea party that afternoon. They were cousins, he seemed to recall, and highly intelligent—followers of Anissina's feministic movement and, in general, curious about everything. And they had been quizzing him about the castle, its occupants, and, above all, Wolfram. With Wolfram recovering, Yuuri had done his best to politely evade the questions about him. And, for some reason, Yuuri got the impression that they didn't like it.

"Good evening!" said the young woman in the fetching, sky blue dress. "My name is Eclesta." She gave a polite curtsey. "And this is Xeohe." She motioned to her companion with her fan.

Yuuri nodded to that. Yes, these were the girls he remembered. "And?" he prodded.

"And we've come to kick your ass!"

Apparently both wind wielders, they stretched out their palms with small, tightly packed whirls of wind-energy balled-up within.

The room plunged itself into darkness and gravity shifted sickeningly as though falling from a great height. When he opened his eyes again, Yuuri found himself face to face with The Maou who was, this time, draped in green cloth. The only light came from four white candles. Each one was burning in a corner of the room.

Snake-like slits were burning right through him.

"Time… Thou hath so little left."

Yuuri bolted upright in the bed.

Hard breaths, the only sound in the room.

These dreams were starting to bother him more and more. And, worse yet, The Maou—if it really was the spirit and not Yuuri's imagination—was not giving him the opportunity for rebuttal anymore.

The double black pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms. This was getting frustrating.

* * *

He couldn't get back to sleep which, he knew, would make life hard the next day. Yawning, Yuuri found himself almost stumbling into the guard in front of him as they trudged along—avoiding dawdlers in the hallway. Low energy, yes. There was that. But, there was also something—a certain something that was nagging at the corner of his mind. His memory flashed back to kissing Wolfram and, then, dream-Amanda. Now, he knew exactly what it was. This was the first time that he _really did_ feel like the "cheater" that Wolfram had always accused him of being. Worse yet, the part of the dream with Amanda seemed so real.

He rubbed the fingers of his right hand together. _It was as though I could touch things._

"Still, you can't help what you dream." Yuuri yawed again and rubbed his eye. "Maybe, I can take a nap in between meetings?" he wondered aloud. And, then, up ahead was something he didn't expect to see. Wolfram was walking along with his cane at a leisurely pace. He was carrying a book he'd just borrowed from the Royal Library and he was making his way to… Well, Yuuri wasn't sure exactly where now that he was thinking about it. But, then, he noticed Chadwick coming up from behind. The young man in uniform seemed to be speaking. And, when he failed to get attention, he tapped Wolfram on the shoulder.

Wham! The book hit the floor.

Wolfram pivoted on his left foot and held his cane in a defensive, horizontal position. His expression was cold—murderous—and Yuuri felt stunned at that.

Wolfram was afraid.

_I have to do something. I have to make this okay._

"Wolf?" Yuuri called, waving cheerfully with his arm fully extended. He looked like a fool but he didn't care. With a goofy grin, he jogged around one of his guards who seemed upset by it. "Oi, Wolf!"

Wolfram glanced over to Yuuri and then back to Chadwick. Working to calm himself down, the blond placed the walking stick back into its regular position with a deeply annoyed click.

"Funny thing with the stick, Wolf... What were you trying to do?" Yuuri asked boyishly. "Block or dance?"

Chadwick seemed equally curious, too.

The snide comment didn't help. Wolfram glared at them with a warning, his temper not quite settled. "Do not approach me from behind, or you might get…" He took the walking stick, gave it a slight twist in a way that was almost too quick for the eye to see, and then pulled. With a metallic sliding sound, Wolfram produced a thin, cruel looking version of a bayonet blade from the cane. "It may not be a sword, but the balance is good and it cuts well enough," Wolfram explained with a hint of pride. "I've tried it on potatoes."

Chadwick admired the blade and, then, gave a quick look to Yuuri's guards. They weren't sure how to react and Wolfram's soldier gave a haughty "Ha!" in their direction. He questioned them, "Must you worry for the safety of our king when his own fiancé brandishes a sword? One that could easily protect him?"

Wolfram gave a nod of thanks for the support. But, he also knew the guards' orders were probably absolute—no sharp objects around Yuuri. Anyone, past or present, could be an enemy.

Hadn't he learned that—in a very permanent sort of way—with Jaeger Barth?

Wolfram faced the guards and said, "If my mother and Anissina can develop one of these, you can be certain that others have done it, too." With conviction, he said, "Keep an eye out."

The men mumbled agreements and Wolfram picked up his book again. The hallway was becoming congested as mealtime was approaching. The blond wondered vaguely if it would be wise to go back to his room and read instead of remaining where he was and getting caught in the mass of people.

Yuuri glanced at the book Wolfram was holding. "Oi, Wolf… You've got a book about…" He tilted his head sideways and squinted. "A book about horsemanship? _Equestrian Days?_" That just didn't seem like Wolfram at all. He was quite good on horseback.

Chadwick laughed a little until he realized Yuuri was totally serious. Wolfram sighed to himself, looking down at he brown, leather bound book.

"Sire, this book is a classic," Chadwick explained. "It's about the final years of the Sixteenth Maou's closest friend and collaborator. He was a soldier, swordsman, hero, and master tactician. In fact, most of us in the military model ourselves after the great Edgar von Wincott."

"It's required reading at the academy, too," Wolfram added to which Chadwick smiled nostalgically.

"Well, maybe, I should read it sometime," Yuuri said, suddenly feeling like he was back in school and everyone was discussing the latest issue of _Pīsu Meikā Kurogane II _.

Wolfram gave him a doubtful glance. "It's a little bit bloody, Yuuri. I think you'd be better off with one of Anissina's stories."

The double black pruned his mouth. "Ha, ha, very funny," he returned with arms folded. "You know that I can handle a bit of blood and action. Remember those animes I told you about?"

"I dunno." Wolfram never gave up his uncertain expression. "You're the only guy I know who has slippers just to wear in the bathroom."

"But, that's normal!" the double black insisted. "Of course, anyone would. And that has nothing to do with books or reading."

Wolfram and Chadwick exchanged uneasy glances and then decided to humor Yuuri. He was king after all. "If you say so" and "Right" were mumbled along with polite bows.

The double black rolled his eyes.

"Well, I should go now," Wolfram stated, doing his best to make it a polite goodbye. His leg was starting to cramp up from all of the standing and walking. Wolfram gave a slight nod to Chadwick and a deeper one to Yuuri before turning to go. But, as he did so, his leg cramped hard, making him wobble.

The world swayed slightly and a hand gripped his forearm firmly.

Green eyes opened, staring directly into black ones.

Yuuri and Wolfram were close, very close. The double black blushed slightly, noticing it. "You okay?" he asked lowly.

A part of Wolfram wanted to melt, to give in because he missed him. The worst time was late at night. They didn't even sleep in the same bed anymore and, in spite of everything, he craved Yuuri—his presence, his warmth, the sense of security that came from having him by his side. With Yuuri next to him, he could let his guard down.

But, then, he remembered. Things had changed between them. He gripped his walking stick a little tigheter. No, the truth was, he had changed.

"Yuuri, I…"

"Oh, Yuuri Heika!" called a voice from more than half way down the hall. All three young men looked over to see Amanda, waving her lace handkerchief, sailing in their direction.

The guards sighed openly and Yuuri felt bad at that. He hated to have anyone wait on him.

"H-e-i-k-a," Amanda sing-songed, smoothing down her apricot skirts as she approached. "I was hoping to get the opportunity to talk to you. But, your schedule has been so busy!" Then, she noticed Wolfram. "Oh, Lord von Bielefeld! It has been ages!" She smiled at him and Yuuri let go of Wolfram's arm.

"Hello again," Wolfram said. "I'm sure my mother has been showing you around the castle and keeping you well entertained. It's not necessary to bother Yuuri over his busy schedule."

Her guilty smile revealed all and then Yuuri remembered that Lady Cheri considered her to be a friend of the family. So, of course, she would be well cared and looked after.

"By the way, Yuuri, I'm not sure if Mother has told you but a lower branch of the von Spitzwegs and the von Hoffs have a habit of intermarrying," Wolfram said as a matter of fact.

Amanda's grin widened at Wolfram. "So, somewhere along the line, I'm sure we are related."

"A few times over," the blond ex-prince corrected.

Both Wolfram and Amanda looked to Yuuri—faces similar, but not so in expression. Amanda's cheerful nature beamed through. Wolfram seemed tired or bored. Yuuri couldn't tell which. Most likely, it was both.

"Well, if you'll excuse me," Wolfram tried again, "I really should be going."

"That's too bad." Amanda pretended to pout. "Maybe, we can talk later. There's a party that your mother is holding this weekend, you know."

"A drinking party to watch 'Heaven's Battle'" Wolfram reminded Yuuri, just in case he forgot—which he had, by the looks of it. "It's about the right time for it." But, then he thought about it a little more. "No, come to think of it, considering everything…time's running out."

Candles burning. Snake-slit eyes. A voice, "Time… Thou hath so little left."

Yuuri blinked hard at the words and took Wolfram's arm again—a little too roughly, surprising him. "What did you say, Wolf?"

Wolfram glanced at his forearm and then up at Yuuri's darkened face. "Nothing…just that time's running out." He pivitoed on his left leg, used the stick to steady himself, and frowned at Yuuri. "What's wrong?"

Yuuri shook his head, coming back to himself. "It's…It's nothing…" He glanced around him. Passing in the hallway, the two Mazoku ladies, Eclesta and Xeohe, were walking along with Murata Ken in the middle. "So, Great Sage," Eclesta asked excitedly, "does Lord von Christ use hair product or is it natural?" Xeohe was, for some reason Yuuri couldn't fathom, taking notes.

The double black, seeing them, tried to use Chadwick to hide—ducking down somewhat.

_What if they see me and wanna kick my ass?_

Wolfram narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing now? Hmm?" The impatience was clearly there. "Why are you so strange all of a sudden?"

_And, now, Wolfram thinks I'm nuts._ Yuuri sighed to himself but he could almost hear The Maou within chuckling. _Enough_ _of that; too noisy_, he growled in his head. Then, he wanted to slap himself. Now, he was talking to himself. _Just peachy…_

There was a tug at Yuuri's black sleeve, pale fingers digging into the material. "There's something…"

Amanda laughed behind her lace handkerchief. "You two are so wonderful together. So close."

Green eyes looked into black ones. But, from the way Yuuri was acting, Wolfram knew that nothing would be revealed. He was just wasting his time and it probably had nothing to do with him anyway. Or, maybe, they weren't as close as Amanda thought they were. And that hurt.

"Well, at any rate…I'd better be on my way," Wolfram said, walking in the direction of his room.

Yuuri opened his mouth to speak but Chadwick interrupted with, "I'll be more than happy to escort you. If that's okay…?" He ran a few steps to catch up.

Wolfram turned around and glanced at Yuuri one last time to see if he cared. As he did so, Amanda found her place next to the double black's side and waved goodbye as though the two of them were seeing him off.

Regretfully, Wolfram accepted it and Chadwick's company. "So, how is it…training with Lord Weller?" he chatted without really listening to the answer. Chadwick, more than enthused, had volumes of information to tell him.

And he did.

* * *

It took a good fifteen minutes of mindless prattle before he could escape. In a hurry now, Yuuri knocked only once and let himself into Gwendal's office. The Commander of the Mazoku Army, jotting down notes with a pencil, actually launched it at the ceiling when Yuuri suddenly burst in.

The yellow object stuck into the ceiling and waved at them.

"What?" Gwendal roared in the double black's direction. "This had better be good!" He was nervous enough without Yuuri Heika getting into the mix.

Yuuri put a hand on the back of his head sheepishly. "I…uh…hee, hee, hee…had a question and you were the easiest to find. Günter's in conference with Charles von Hoff and some guy whose name sounds like a plate of pasta."

"Fusillian Stark?" Gwendal asked impatiently.

"Uh…yeah…" Yuuri eyed the ceiling.

Gwendal did, too.

The pencil was still there.

"So, why did you come?" he asked crossly, not patient enough to look directly at Yuuri. The double black had been getting on his last nerve lately and he'd hoped that by not seeing him, he would –eventually—calm down to a point where he could be civil.

"I had a question about Lady Cheri's party this weekend."

"A party?" The man in the green uniform leveled a stare. "Let's be brief, shall we?"

"Eh?"

"Do you have to attend my mother's party? The answer is 'yes.' Do you have to drink? One glass will be good." He took a seat and leaned back in the chair, trying hard not to glance up at the ceiling again. "For all other details, consult Günter."

This was nothing new. Yuuri understood all of that from attending Lady Cheri's previous parties in the castle. "Well, what I wanted to know is what 'time' has to do with it. Do you know?"

Someone walked past the door and Gwendal froze for a second, eyes filled with dread. Then, seeing as nothing happened, he relaxed somewhat and answered, "It's an evening drinking party…late night, actually." Then, he pointed an accusing finger and warned, "And don't drink too much! Remember Wolfram's birthday."

"Oi, that was Wolfram who got drunk, not me," he said flatly. And he had to dress Wolfram, too, in that pink, frilly nightgown. And everything was fine until the point where he got down to unbuttoning the dark blue trousers.

Yuuri blushed at the memory.

Gwendal, not deterred, returned with, "Always learn from the mistakes of others."

_Pushy_, Yuuri thought as the door swung open so wide that it hit the wall with a resounding crash and broke plaster. The pencil came plopping down on Gwendal's head as Anissina rushed over.

"So, this is where you've been hiding!" she said enthusiastically. "I'm so glad I found you!"

"W-What…? What are you…?" He stammered, horror struck.

"I've got a new invention," she crowed as she linked arms with Gwendal, yanking him from his chair and in the direction of the door. "Oi, Eclesta and Xeohe?" she called down the hallway. Yuuri could hear the girls call back a "Yes?"

"Do you want to watch Lord von Voltaire power up my latest invention, Parasail-on-a-banana-kun? Never mind that the closest body of water is kilometers away."

"Please!"

"Please!"

Yuuri ducked away from the open door, not wanting to be spotted. Just to play it safe, he spent the next fifteen minutes hiding in Gwendal's office. He just didn't know what kind of trouble would find him next.

* * *

Yuuri glanced right and left in the hopes of avoiding Anissina and her happy crew (and unhappy Gwendal). There was the smell of food cooking and he knew that it would be served up fairly soon. Meals were served in shifts now that so many people were at the castle. Yuuri had decided to take his meal in his bedroom. It would give him a break from people. Sometimes, he just perferred to be alone.

Moving on down the next hallway, he spotted Wolfram and a pink haired woman opening the door to the bath that Gwendal and Conrad frequented. It seemed strange to him that Wolfram would do such a thing. After all, he commonly used the Royal Bath. Why the sudden change?

"Wolf?" Yuuri called, startling both the blond and the woman behind him.

As the double black came closer, he noticed that the woman was carrying all of the things Wolfram would need—clothes, the small wooden bucket filled with soaps and shampoo, towels, and the like.

Once again, Wolfram didn't seem happy to meet up with him.

"Yuuri."

The double black smiled at him anyway, but found it harder to do it for the woman. "Wolf? What are you doing?"

The fire Mazoku leaned a little harder on his walking stick than necessary, giving his body a defensive curve to it. "I was trying to take a bath." His tone seemed to say, "Duh, wasn't that obvious?"

Yuuri decided to ignore the tone and pressed again. "Well, you usually prefer the bath we use together." He tried to sound friendly and thumbed in the approprite direction.

Wolfram glanced at the door he wanted to go through, then, away. "For quite awhile now, I've been using this one. I don't mind, really."

"For awhile?" Then, his black eyes widened. "Oh…" Yuuri wanted to smack himself. Since Wolfram had started getting around on his own, he didn't think about Wolfram's schedule or personal habits changing at all. Yuuri was so busy, and so relieved that the ex-prince was doing better, that he didn't realize a part of him was going back to the old ways, the old routine. Yuuri thought about the letter. It was Wolfram's personal "goodbye" to him, wasn't it? And, maybe, now that his feelings were exposed, it made it easier for Wolfram to continue doing what he'd done before—to slowly fade away.

To let go and lead a separate life…

"So, uh…" Yuuri looked at the pink haired woman again. She was one of Gissela's assistants, Lina. "You're here to…"

"Get Lord von Bielefeld squeaky clean," she enthused, but it was a bit of a struggle not to sweatdrop at the way Wolfram was glaring at her. Lina was, by nature, a bubbly personality. She had to be to handle her job. But, Wolfram didn't always make it easy for her—his modesty being a major issue and, in her line of work, it just couldn't be.

The blond sighed impatiently. "Gissela has insisted that I bathe with someone in attendance. She's afraid I'll slip in the bath, fall or drown… or something…" He gave what he wanted to appear as a bored shrug to emphasize that Gissela was totally wrong and that he could handle himself. "Between this and not letting me ride my horse for two solid months, it's become frightfully dull."

The double black was certain it would be.

"Wait here, okay? I'll be right back."

Both Lina and Wolfram felt confused as Yuuri jogged off down the hall with his guards in tow. The armed men weren't used to following a king who could easily out run them. And, thus, they had to make extra efforts with all of that armor on in order to just keep up. But, within five minutes, Yuuri was back and had stationed his grumpy and winded guards at the door.

"I will be happy to take this," Yuuri explained to Lina—relieving her of Wolfram's bath things. He had his own, too, and had balanced them well as they entered the small bath.

He hummed a little tune.

"You don't have to do this, Yuuri," Wolfram sighed dully as the door closed behind them. "Just because I said I was bored… It wasn't an invitation for you to drop everything and bathe with me, okay?" His eyes took on a lifeless sheen. "It's not necessary."

"Hm…" was the only answer as Yuuri busied himself with getting things arranged in an order that he liked. Well, to be more specific, it was an order that Wolfram usually preferred. They knew each other so well, it wasn't necessary to give direction or to take any.

Giving in, Wolfram removed his shirt, trousers, brace, and thong after propping his walking stick against the nearest wall.

"Here! Catch!" the double black called over, tossing him a towel. Yuuri got a nod of thanks for that.

Wolfram wrapped the thin, white towel around himself and hopped precariously on his left leg a few paces to one of the three legged stools the bath had waiting.

Yuuri watched him closely with an uneasy feeling, but was pretending not to. It was hard to see Wolfram "manage." But, he knew that it was something that Wolfram wanted to do on his own. The worst thing in the world would have been to baby him or to act as his servant. Wolfram needed little achievements—little victories—if he was going to return to any resemblance of the "Wolfram" that Yuuri was used to and, more importantly, very fond of.

The sound of bare feet slapping on tile echoed.

Yuuri had his clothes off and a towel around his waist, too. He brought over Wolfram's small bucket and placed it next to his stool.

"New shampoo?" Yuuri noticed.

Wolfram raised the bottle in a disinterested way. "A gift from Mother," he explained as he uncorked it with a soft, little pop, "She really liked this on one of her travels and wanted to have me try…" He narrowed his eyes with a serious expression after taking a good sniff. He pushed in the cork and then fisted the bottle, trying not to let himself lose his temper and shatter the thing. "Do you mind if I borrow some of yours?" he asked between gritted teeth.

"Sure…but why?" the double black said. "Does that stuff smell bad?"

A short shake of the head "no."

"Girly? Kinda like what my mother likes?"

Another shake.

Wolfram glanced into Yuuri's face and then let his head drop in defeat. "It's that damn orchid perfumed shampoo Mother loves so much…" He folded his arms defensively against his chest. "I suppose, she was curious to see if there was anyone I was attracted to…because I can't bathe alone and Gissela keeps switching attendants on me…so…" His voice trailed off.

_Oh, that stuff!_ Yuuri thought to himself. _Anyone who gets a whiff of it…their passions burn brighter. _His black eyes drifted to Wolfram. _But, that also means that she's meddling and that she wants Wolf to fall for someone…to move on. _Absently, he found a stool and sat upon it with a worried expression. _Someone other than me…_

"I apologize," Wolfram growled as he took some rose scented water from the massive jug next to him, splashing it across his shoulders and then dipping in for more. "I doubt anything would have happened to you while I was shampooing with it, but…" Then, he wetted his hair and opened Yuuri's shampoo bottle with a flick of his thumb. "I guess, it wouldn't have mattered after all. So, I should just let it go."

Wolfram was rambling now and he hated it. Why talk anyway? It wasn't as though it would change anything—for the better or the worse.

Wolfram lathered his blond hair and tried to think of other things. That was clear from the way he looked.

The double black felt as though a weight had been suddenly put on him. His chest was heavy. But, still, he could find a way to be encouraging—right?—for Wolfram's sake, at least. "You know, Wolf, you're not alone."

Wolfram rolled his eyes this time. "Yes, I got that speech from Conrad already. Thank you very much." The blond lathered his hair again, roughly this time with eyes closed. "But, there are different types of 'being alone' and I'm fine all of them."

He was and he could handle it all.

Wolfram lifted his chin. He could hear the stool in front of him move across the floor, around him, and stop in back. He turned his soapy head, following the sound.

"Yuuri? What are you…?"

"You're too noisy," said the voice behind his right ear and Wolfram froze. The words were warm and tickled slightly.

Wolfram's eyes burst open when he felt Yuuri's fingers delve into his hair. He winced, tearing up. Now, he had suds in his eyes which burned like hell. He tried to wipe them away on the back of his hand.

"Just relax, Wolf."

The shampooing continued at a much gentler pace, which should have pleased him, but Wolfram had the sudden impulse to bat the double black away. He wasn't an invalid. He could do things—take care of himself. But, it wasn't the proper thing to say. It would sound weak and insecure. Instead, he reminded him, "You're the king. I should be washing your hair. But every time I've ever offered, you…"

Fingers massaged his scalp, sweeping in little curves.

"Go along with it, huh?"

With his thumb, Wolfram rubbed the last of the lather from his long lashes. "Yuuri, I know you would do this for anyone…and I appreciate it…however…" The splashing water interrupted his words, washing them away.

"Maybe, it would be good if we spent more time together?" Yuuri suggested as he got out the bar soap and rubbed it against a washcloth. "It could be fun. Just like the old days, in the beginning…huh? Maybe, you know, when this conference is over and all..."

It felt like an eternity since they'd done anything adventurous together. Even a little one would be good right about now.

"Possibly." Though, Wolfram had been using that word a lot lately. "Possibly" was his new "I don't think so"—which got people off his back readily enough. Of course, he had no intention of going through with most of his "Possiblies" except where Gissela was concerned. She could put a drill sergeant to shame.

"Then, we'll have to come up with something…maybe go to Earth and just pal around. Or, we could go riding and have a picnic with Greta."

He took Wolfram's hand and the blond visibly startled. Green eyes wide, muscles tensed.

_He's afraid…even of me. He doesn't like to be touched._ Yuuri forced a grin onto his face. "It's only me, Wolf. I'd never hurt you." He took the arm and rubbed the soapy cloth against it.

The blond's posture relaxed slightly, now facing forward to stare at the blank wall ahead of him. "I suppose…"

Smoothly, Yuuri moved the cloth over Wolfram's shoulders and noticed, for the first time, the sword scar –or "toukon"—on his back. It moved slightly as he took in each breath. It resembled melted wax—a slightly sunken, pinkish thing that marred his once perfect, porcelain body.

_How he must have suffered. Betrayed. Stabbed from behind by someone he once had trained to fight in combat._

The wash cloth slowed.

_He would have died from this. When a sword goes deep enough, there's no surviving it._

Wolfram's green eyes looked down curiously as the washcloth slid smoothly over his shoulder and down the front. He opened his mouth to speak but found on the opposite side of his neck another arm wrapping itself around him.

The double black was hugging him from behind, his cheek pressed against the nape of Wolfram's neck.

The blond could feel something wet and warm dripping down. "Tears?" he whispered to Yuuri. "Please, don't do this."

"Sorry." A soft "hic" followed it.

Wolfram bit his lower lip until he could manage his emotions better. Someone had to be in control, and he'd already gone through this once with his mother. "None of this is your fault."

When Yuuri shook his head, Wolfram's body swayed. The arms gripped him tighter. "I let you go. I knew your job was dangerous but, I thought that it would be okay…just like all of the other times."

The ex-prince took a slow, deep breath when Yuuri sobbed.

The wimp was sad. He felt guilty and responsible. But, Wolfram knew this wasn't his fault. It never was. Trying to direct his thoughts elsewhere, Wolfram patted the arm on his right—the one easiest to reach. "You need to stop this. What if someone walks in here and sees you?" _Yes, that would work_, or so he thought. But, the arms still held him.

He tried again. "You'll get embarrassed, Yuuri, like you always do when you hold me."

The way they always were together. Wolfram knew it so well.

But Yuuri refused to move.

"You're forcing me to do this, you know." Using his left leg and gripping the sides of the stool with his hands, Wolfram managed to turn his slick body around. Yuuri looked up in surprise to see that he had his arms still around Wolfram and they were face to face.

Close. Too close..._again_.

_A kiss._ Yuuri expected one—somehow. Wasn't that what people always did when they were this close? He could hear his own heartbeat.

The blond put a hand on Yuuri's shoulder in a friendly way. "I'm fine. I'm here now because you healed me. And, believe me, my family and I will be forever grateful." He gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Someday, I'll find a way to pay you back."

Wolfram's smile was thin but real and encouraging. Or, at least, he hoped it appeared so.

But, Yuuri's mind was elsewhere._ Wha-? No kiss? Not even gonna try…?_

When the black eyes seemed to be watching him too intimately and with some sort of hidden meaning that he couldn't decipher, Wolfram added, "I won't go to my grave owing you for this."

"Grave? No, I promise you…" the double black pledged sincerely, "I won't give you another opportunity to die."

Silly, naïve, and so typically Yuuri.

"I don't think that's a promise you can keep. So, I won't hold you to it."

On this matter, Yuuri was determined to get his way, chin raised a little. "I'm not asking you to stop being brave or anything. But, I know your heart…" Yuuri was going to tap a finger on Wolfram's bare chest to prove his point. He glanced. There was a sword scar there, too. Jaeger Barth's blade had plunged straight through. How could he have forgotten?

With curious fingers, Yuuri touched the mark—tracing the line and trying to imagine the pain. Some part of him wanted to share it, but Wolfram placed a hand over his.

"Stop doing this to yourself."

Feeling as though he wanted to cry all over again, Yuuri rested his forehead against Wolfram's. "I know it hurt. It had to."

Briefly, the blond closed his eyes. Would the truth serve better? Yes, in this case, it would. "Sometimes, I still feel the pain…like there's something still stuck in me. But I keep going… I keep moving."

A tear streaked down Yuuri's face and Wolfram wiped it away, reminding him, "You know how stubborn I can be."

Arms wound against Wolfram's shoulders again. Yuuri leaned in for a tighter hug, forgetting that all they were wearing were thin, wet towels. Their knees bumped into each other, too. "Awkward" didn't even begin to define it for Wolfram. All it would take would be for someone to open the door and walk in on them. Worried green eyes kept glancing at Yuuri's face, hoping he'd stop all of this.

"Can't let you go, Wolfram."

The blond chuckled a little bitterly. "Sure you can…and, unless you want to spend the rest of your life on that stool, you'll have to."

"That's an ugly image, Wolf."

"Too true."

But, they both could chuckle at it, and Yuuri's desperate hug became more of a comforting one—one which Wolfram gladly returned. Yuuri felt better. And that was all that really mattered to him.

If Wolfram could offer Yuuri a smile, a laugh, or a shoulder to cry on, he would do it—anything to give his double black a better life.

* * *

It was a spur of the moment "audience" that Yuuri decided to grant despite Gwendal's determination to handle it personally and privately. And, by "personally," he meant "all by himself." But, as the double black pointed out, the request was a meeting with the "king" and not "Wolfram's big brother."

If Gwendal could play by the rules and stick to technicalities, so could he.

Yuuri, dressed in formal attire for that evening's fancy dinner party (attire which was uncomfortable because Wolfram was taking a nap and could not help him dress—not to mention the fur collar itched terribly), sat on his throne with the constant urge to scratch. He adjusted the crown only seconds before the double doors opened and three people entered the room.

Gwendal, Conrad, and Günter along with six armed guards positioned at all the exits watched the trio as they made their way forward on a red carpet. With the massive size of the room, this was a long trek and made Yuuri even more uncomfortable than he usually was in the Throne Room. Günter made a motion for them to stop when they got close enough. And only the woman bothered to bow in respect.

"Your Majesty," Günter said, turning to Yuuri with a flourish of his white cape, "you have before you the Barth siblings." He gestured to a salt and pepper haired Mazoku male who appeared to be nearing middle age. "This is the acting head of the household, Wentworth Barth, his youngest brother, Alec, and sister, Amethyst."

Yuuri noted, without surprise, Amethyst had purple hair and lilac eyes.

Günter, for the first time, gave the siblings his full attention—a haughty expression with a hand on his hip, giving them notice that he would not accept anything other than good manners in front of his king.

Alec, carrying something that resembled a red lacquered shoebox, squared his shoulders and glared at Yuuri despite Günter's warning. The young Mazoku wasn't going to let one of the king's advisors set the stage. The three of them had traveled for days to get here and worked even longer to get this audience. So, he was pissed to put it mildly.

Wentworth put his large paw on Alec's shoulder and gave a strict look. Alec met it, understood, but gave no promises.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" Yuuri asked even though he had his suspicions.

"This!" Alec shouted, raising the box in the air over his head. "We've come to talk about this! Our dead brother!"

Günter turned to Yuuri and spoke in his usual, lecturing tone. "It's the box of bones that we returned to the family after Lord von Bielefeld's attacker was…dealt with." Günter made sure that his voice carried.

Yuuri's face had "Oh, I see!" written all over it and Alec grew angry all over again, lowering the red box.

"Don't you understand?" Alec ran a few steps forward and the guards all readied themselves. All the young Mazoku would have to do is pose a threat again and they would be able to act without mercy.

Wentworth tried again, walking up behind his brother and whispering, "Calm down" harshly in his ear.

"Calm down?" Alec interjected. "First, they take disciplinary actions against our brother for a small prank…!"

Standing on the right side of the throne, Gwendal frowned and clarified, "He lit a fart which set the tent they were sleeping in on fire. People could have died."

"At our age, anyone can use bad judgment," Alec defended. "And, then, they decided they wanted to boot him out. So, they kept writing bad reports on him… 'Not suited for the position' they said."

"Actually, I said that," Gwendal spoke up with a hint of satisfaction. "I, personally, watched him train. He was more interested in sitting under the shade of a tree than learning drills. His commanding officer spent the whole time shouting until he was hoarse before any real training got done. And, even then, Jaeger Barth was relying too much on his mediocre magic wielding and not enough on sword training."

Alec's glare was murderous. "Mediocre? You take that back!"

Gwendal looked to Yuuri and said smugly, "I can show you the documentation."

"That still does not excuse the cruel manner in which my brother died," Wentworth chimed in for the first time. Unlike Alec, his voice was calm. "True, my younger brother was always a bit of a hot head and had used poor judgment from time to time…but to leave nothing left for us but bones…?"

"He attacked his commanding officer," Conrad said from his place near Yuuri.

"And, I'm sure he was provoked into it!" Amethyst piped up, eyes wide and wobbly with tears. "If they had been good to him…had helped him learn better, none of this would ever have happened in the first place."

Even though Yuuri was staunchly on Wolfram's side, he tried to be sympathetic to the young girl's feelings. After all, she'd just lost her older brother and he had one, too. So, he could relate somewhat. "I understand that you're upset, but…"

"But, nothing!" Amethyst shouted back. "My brother's gone!"

"And mine almost died!" Gwendal countered, having enough of this. And some part of him was angry at Yuuri for not defending Wolfram, for mentioning what he'd gone through.

He boomed in his largest, loudest general's voice, "Lord von Bielefeld is _my brother_ and he was mercilessly attacked from _BEHIND_ by your brother…who had, somehow, learned of the training session, dressed in his old uniform, rode for thirty minutes from this castle, and attacked my brother, his former commanding officer, in a most _cowardly way_!"

"Prove it!" Alec challenged.

To this, Yuuri's jaw dropped. He'd seen all of the reports and the interviews. Everyone's story matched. There could be no mistake or misinterpretation. "Jaeger Barth did the things we've told you about. There were witnesses all over the place…including a farmer delivering watermelons."

"Paid to lie!" Amethyst sobbed, putting a handkerchief to her eyes.

"You are most certainly mistaken," Günter said, now jumping into the dispute. "As a former academy instructor I can testify, without a doubt, that the shredded uniform that Lord von Bielefeld was wearing was consistent with the actions reportedly taken against him by his attacker."

Wentworth gave his light brown haired little brother another warning look. He needed to back off because he was swiftly approaching the point where losing his temper could mean losing his life. But, Alec was shaking so hard with anger that the box rattled.

The oldest sibling looked up at Yuuri once more. "We have come here seeking compensation for the loss of our brother due to the negligence of your men. Had your guards been better, my brother would never have gotten into camp. And, had Lord von Bielefeld had a personal bodyguard, he would have walked away from the situation unscathed."

Yuuri leaned forward in surprised and whispered to Günter, "They want…money?"

Günter whispered back behind his hand, "Most decidedly so."

Gwendal's eyes took on a hard edge to them. And, then, he turned to the double black. "May I handle this, Your Majesty?"

"You knew all along that they wanted money?"

A curt nod told Yuuri all he needed to know on that point. "But, no violence? Nobody dies?"

Gwendal took on a hard smirk. "Let's just say," he mumbled back lowly, "that they won't like it very much." And, with that, he descended the stairs to the royal throne's dais.

"Wentworth Barth, I do believe that your family makes the canons for Shin Makoku's royal fleet. And, your family makes quite a comfortable profit from that. Am I not correct?"

The Mazoku with salt and pepper hair gave a small "humph" but did little more than that.

"And, am I not mistaken that it was your retired father who asked us to take Jaeger into my brother's elite guard in the first place because he was rather 'bothersome' at home…needing discipline…making more enemies than friends…which can be bad for business?"

Wentworth stood his ground. "It is not uncustomary to have monetary compensation to the family if a soldier has died. And the situation was neglectful on your part."

Amethyst was practically jumping up and down. "Yes! Yes! They drove him to it."

"And, more than that… What I demand, sir, is an apology!" Alec said to Yuuri, fury burning in his eyes.

Gwendal rounded on him. "You want an apology? Fine, I'll give you one!" He got into the young man's face and said, "I'm sorry your brother was a worthless soldier! I'm sorry that he couldn't do his job! I'm sorry that he chose to hack at my baby brother like a straw training dummy!"

"Gwendal!" Yuuri called as he walked swiftly down the stairs, flipping his long cape behind him. "I think we've got your point."

Günter followed saying, "If the Barths are not pleased with the generosity of His Majesty in returning the remains, then we totally understand." He placed his hands together as though pleased, but his eyes told a different story. "We will stop purchasing your canons and start buying from our friends in Caloria."

Alec's grey eyes widened. He knew exactly what that meant. They'd have to return home and explain to their father what they'd just done—lost the most important account their business had plus bragging rights and ties to the monarchy.

"Yes, that's true," Gwendal gritted out, coming back to his senses. "They say that The East Caloria Company makes some of the finest canons around. We might even work something out about taxes between our country and theirs."

"Sounds good to me," Günter purred. "And with the economic summit here, I'm sure that I can find some representatives with close contacts."

Wentworth tensed up and turned to Yuuri. "Blackmailer."

The double black shrugged, "Then, I guess, it takes one to know one."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

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Wolfram sat on the whitewashed bench, mindlessly twirling a small rose between his thumb and forefinger. It was a white rose with a pink blush in the center. The climbing rose bush had been growing very nicely this year—rambling along the trellis and up the frame of the doorway. It needed some pruning, though. So, when a soft petal brushed against the back of his hand, Wolfram took notice, picked the flower, and found a quiet place to admire it until…

"Oi, Wolf!" Yuuri called, stepping lively to join him.

At the sound of his name, the blond raised his head curiously, lifting his chin up and over his shoulder to see not only Yuuri but Greta coming along with… Now, the blond groaned inwardly.

They had a picnic basket.

"Hi, Wolfram!" Greta said with bubbly enthusiasm. "Sorry, we're late. Yuuri had an important meeting to go to and we had to wait on him."

"He…did?" The blond gave a questioning look to Yuuri. But the double black shifted his attention down to his toes.

_Something is going on,_ Wolfram thought wryly. _I wonder if he'll tell me._

"So, now… we are _READY_!" Greta sounded like a cheerleader. All she needed now were little pompoms and a uniform with belled shoes. The picnic basket rattled with cups and plates inside.

Wolfram sighed openly as he tapped his walking stick on the flagstone under his feet. The blond knew that he could only go so far before fatigue set in. It happened to him almost daily, which was frustrating. And, even if he managed to push himself to go as far as their favorite picnic spot under the old apple tree, it would still be no good. He wouldn't be able to make it back on foot.

"I'm sorry, Greta. This is a wonderful idea, but I just can't do it."

It was really painful to say that. He hated disappointing her. But the truth was the truth. And, in time, she would have figured it out on her own anyway. It was just easier to cut to the chase.

"Yes, you can," Yuuri said cheerfully, taking Wolfram by his free hand and leading him back indoors.

"What are you doing?" Wolfram asked as the hand tugged him merrily along with a swinging motion. He could keep up easy enough but he was still confused…and indoors. Yes, confused and _indoors_…for a picnic…which made absolutely no sense to him.

Yuuri could see all the way down to the end of the hallway and noticed an unusually large group of people heading in their direction. Maybe, a meeting just let out. But the problem was too many people all wanting a quick word with him. Yuuri just didn't have time for that. Usually, he would make the time to chat and be friendly. But, not now. Too much was going on. The double black looked to the guards stationed on either side of Gwendal's office door and chose the tall, ape-like fellow on the right. "Excuse me," he said and the man suddenly stood at attention, saluting. "Uh…yeah," Yuuri went on, putting a hand behind his head and grinning sheepishly. "I need you to help me go to," and he whispered the rest in a way Wolfram couldn't make out.

"Yes, sir!" and the four of them trudged with purpose down the hall. Well, except for Greta, who scrambled her little legs to keep up. But she was having fun with it and hauling lunch, too. So, it didn't matter.

An adventure, especially with Wolfram and Yuuri, was well worth it.

"It's the king and his fiancé!" and "Yuuri Heikas!" were all chimed in their direction—voices mixed and scrambled as they went along. Yuuri caught a glimpse of Wolfram's men, too—including Chadwick and Luca.

"Gotta go! So sorry! Lunch meeting!" Yuuri returned with a firmer grip on Wolfram's hand. The blond glanced at it but told himself this was nothing. This whole plan, whatever it was, was probably screwed up, too. So, the lower the expectations he had, the better. He just prayed that it would be over soon. Then, he could go on with his life.

Suddenly, Wolfram's hand stopped tugging him forward and he glanced curiously at Yuuri's face. The double black felt smug. Yes, smug. And Wolfram was confused and the look was absolutely adorable. Or, at least, it was from Yuuri's viewpoint.

The guard opened the door. This gave Yuuri the opportunity to, once more, tug the blond along. Once inside, Greta closed the door behind them—rubbing a palm over her perspiring brow.

"It's time for bed," Yuuri laughed and pointed to Greta to set things up.

"Bed? I thought this was supposed to be a picnic," Wolfram pondered out loud as he scanned The Royal Bedroom. Nothing had changed. Everything was the way he'd left it weeks ago. But, still, it felt weird just being here again and even more so as Greta climbed onto the mammoth canopy bed and started spreading out the red and white picnic blanket they always sat on.

"I know you get tired easily," Yuuri explained in a low voice so Greta couldn't hear, "but she needs you right now. She needs to see that you're going to be okay." He toed the antique carpet uncomfortably with his foot. "I'm sorry if I sprung this on you. You're not a big fan of surprises."

"True, I've had very few good ones."

Wolfram glanced over to a very happy child who was humming to herself while placing a full bottle of apple cider on Wolfram's nightstand along with three glasses. Plates of sandwiches, fried chicken, cut veggies, potato salad, and Wolfram-shaped butter cookies were fanned out, ready for the taking.

"This is so great, Yuuri!" She grinned widely, taking out the silverware. "An 'in bed' picnic! And Wolfram's never let us eat in bed before." A happy little wiggle followed.

The blond looked to Yuuri again. "No, actually… I think it will be a lot of fun." Then, with an impish grin, he added, "And you'll have to sleep in the crumbs tonight, Yuuri."

"Always the optimist… huh, Wolfram?"

"That's me," he agreed, propping his walking stick against the wall and hopping over to the side of the bed he used to sleep on. He sat down on the edge and then climbed in to be closer to Greta. "So, my princess, what shall we start with?" Wolfram asked, eyeing the food.

A girlish giggle was followed by the offering of a finger sandwich on a plate.

Yuuri couldn't help but glow inwardly as he approached the bed. It was good to be back together like this—very good.

* * *

It was the door closing a bit too firmly that got Yuuri's attention, the sound startling him awake. He woke up groggily, giving the top of his head a good, hard scratch. His stomach was more than full and he had a half glass of his drink still on his nightstand. But the rest of the meal had been cleared away. Apparently, Greta had packed up everything back into the basket and was returning it to the kitchen, closing the door behind her.

Lying peacefully on the bed next to him was Wolfram. Not surprisingly, the blond had a full belly, too, and had drifted off somewhere between the cookies and a conversation between Greta and the double black about the way a turnstile worked in Japan.

A faint snore. Soft breathing.

Wolfram was exactly where he was supposed to be, Yuuri had decided. For the first time in a very long time, the blond was sleeping in their bed, fingers laced together on his chest. Seeing Wolf in his notorious, pink nightie would have put everything back to rights—or, firmly on the path to that—but it could wait. Just knowing that he could bring Wolfram back to this room, back to their family moments together. That would be enough for now.

The double black scooted a little closer when Wolfram mumbled "Yuuri?" in his sleep. Was he having a dream…a dream about _them_?

He cocked his head to the side, watching.

What kind of dream was it?

Wolfram stretched and rolled over onto his side, now facing the double black as he slept.

"Y-u-u-r-i…"

That was when he noticed that Greta had not taken the red and white picnic blanket—probably because they were both still sleeping on it. Now, the edge draped over the blond's shoulder gracefully.

He looked more than appealing… _But, that dream!_

Yuuri felt more than a little uncomfortable at the different thoughts which came to mind in answering that question. He wasn't ready for all of _that_—from anyone. Intimacy. He knew it and that was what he was running away from, wasn't it? It was easier keeping everything in place, in routine, than to take a leap of faith. Change wasn't what he wanted. Worse yet, change was a frightening thing.

_What if things don't work out? _

What if his feelings weren't real or real enough? What if he pushed Wolfram away, hurting him with promises withdrawn?

What if he wasn't good enough?

Plus, Wolfram having _that kind of dream_ would be awkward for them both—especially if the blond knew that he knew.

Yuuri bit his bottom lip. _It would be embarrassing for any guy, ya know?_

Wolfram rolled away, onto his back once more, and his head fell heavily to the side. His breathing became more like sobs, mouth turned down. Yuuri looked at him now, troubled.

"Wolf?"

Wolfram's lithe, beautiful form lay before him. There was always an enchanting aura about him. It was something that always drew attention, whether the blond liked it or not. But, now, there was something broken about him, too. It was more than a butterfly with a torn wing.

Much, much more than that.

A large tear fell from the corner of Wolfram's eye and streaked across the bridge of his nose. "…To say…goodbye…" Wolfram sighed.

Yuuri shook his head. "No, Wolf," he whispered back. "We were having so much fun. I wasn't saying 'goodbye.' I was trying to get us together…make new memories… Remember what I said back in the bath?"

Wolfram's pale face had a crying blush to it and Yuuri found himself gently wrapping his arms around Wolfram, repositioning his body to be closer. And, then, he tucked the blanket around them both, trying to be of comfort. "Your dream is a sad one, huh? I don't know whether to wake you or not. You need the sleep, but…"

Wolfram buried his face into Yuuri's chest, tears still falling softly. Yuuri could feel his black jacket soaking through with small, warm droplets.

"Wolf, I'm so sorry… I really thought it was some other kind of dream." And, as he petted and smoothed blond hair, it occurred to him that had it been any other kind of dream, he would probably have left Wolfram alone without giving it a second thought.

"I'm kind of new at this, you know. I've never had to console anyone except Greta. And, if you'll remember, I wasn't all that good in the beginning." He held Wolfram closer to him. "Forgive me for my mistakes…okay? Please?"

And, with that, Yuuri decided to get some sleep on his own. He wouldn't let go of Wolfram, though—not until his dream ended and a new, a better one, came in its place.

* * *

The scent was familiar and the warmth a deep comfort. This was the best nap that Wolfram had taken in weeks. Strangely, he had a vague sense that it had not started out that way. There was a sketchy memory of a dream—a dream made up entirely of emotions, one strung after the other like pearls. Mostly, the dream was about his true way of thinking and was candid in many respects, even if he was not ready to face any of them.

But, now that he was awake—maybe, not quite alert, but "awake" nonetheless—everything was fading fast.

Wolfram tried to move only to realize that he was lying on his back with Yuuri half on top of him, nuzzled into his neck with a "cat has cream" smile and an arm slung over his chest. "Wha-?" The ex-prince raised a delicate eyebrow. Yuuri must have rolled over in his sleep and not realized.

_Dolt… Once he wakes and sees this, I wonder what kind of expression he will have…?_

A cuddle. A snore steaming up his neck leaving behind a prickly feeling.

Green eyes narrowed. "Okay…Let's find out," Wolfram said to himself, patting Yuuri on the back and, then, shaking the shoulder when he didn't open his eyes fast enough. "Yuuri? Yuuri?" He said the name harshly. "Get up. Shinou only knows what time it is. Come on…"

"Hmm?" A mumble of protest followed from the double black as he shifted his body slightly. The red and white blanket which, for some reason, was only covering their legs, slid down a bit more.

"Now!"

With a scowl, Yuuri opened one eye. "Sleeping'…go back to sleep, Wolf. Who cares what time it is."

Wolfram flopped his left arm against the mattress and his head into the goose down pillow, sending up a single feather. "_Y-u-u-r-i._" He said the name lowly and with dark purpose. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? Hmm?"

Still dozing, he buried his nose in Wolfram's armpit and the blond stiffened immediately, eyes bulging wide. He muffled, "I think I'm sleeping, Wolf…told ya…" He exhaled and the blond felt that, too. He fought the urge to squirm.

"Please remove your nose and the rest of yourself from my person," Wolfram stated in the most formal Mazoku tongue he could muster.

Groggily, Yuuri lifted his head up, lowered it, and pressed his chin on Wolfram's chest. "What's up, Wolf? I'm pretty much awake now…all thanks to you."

The blond would have folded his arms against his chest defensively had that pointy chin not been there, digging in sharply, and the double black's body pressing down. Wolfram pruned his lips together for a moment, gathering his wits. "Look at yourself, Yuuri. Look where you are," he gritted out before wincing.

"Huh?" Yuuri returned stupidly. And, then it hit him—where he was, what he was doing. "Whoa! Sorry, Wolf!"

Black eyes apologetic, aimed only at him.

Wolfram thought he had prepared himself for that reaction. Apparently, his walls weren't thick enough. It was a blow to him and he made a tight fist, digging in his nails. It was for the best, he knew. He'd told himself that a hundred times that his feelings were hopeless, one-sided. But, it still cut him somewhere inside. He glanced away, trying not to show it.

However, Yuuri saw.

"I'm sorry!" He bolted upright, palms waving defensively. "I'm so, so, so…sorry, Wolf!"

Wolfram shook his head at that. "Saying 'I'm sorry' only makes it worse."

Yuuri's jaw dropped a little bit. "Seriously? You mean it?"

Then, to the blond's utter amazement, he could feel fingers unbuttoning the casual white shirt he had on. All Wolfram could do, for that instant, was just lie there—stunned—and wonder "what the hell" had gotten into the double black.

Button.

Button.

Down.

Down.

Fingers fumbling, rushing to get the job done. Fingers brushing against material, opening it more and more.

The last one was unbuttoned and the material unceremoniously thrown back. The shirt was now open and his bare chest revealed. Wolfram could feel a definite chill from the room and shivered. And with the way Yuuri's eyes were taking him in, all the blond could do was blush and look away.

It was too embarrassing.

A gasp of surprise. He arched his back in reflex.

"Y-Yuuri?" Wolfram held his breath when he felt the double black's fingers brush against his skin, exploring it. This was bold, even for Yuuri.

Yuuri traced the pink scar on Wolfram's chest with the tip of a finger. "I didn't mean to hurt you! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to be rough when I was on you. Is the pain bad?"

Green eyes looked confused. "Eh?"

"Let me help. I really think I can do this now." Hovering his hands over the thick scar, Yuuri produced a green glow. It felt like warm water was being poured onto his skin. A slight tingly feeling sunk deep inside, searching for physical pain. "I wish I could heal this scar, Wolf." Yuuri's voice was sincere, caring. "I wish I could undo everything that happened…make it all go away."

And, then, Wolfram realized. "Oh, I see. I understand now." The confusion was gone and so was the blush that had accompanied it.

"You…do?" The healing glow vanished.

"Yeah," Wolfram said, raising his right hand and brushing away a stray strand of black hair from Yuuri's face. "But, you did your best for me…right? And that's all that matters."

"Not enough," he confessed and dove forward for another hug. He took the blond into his arms again, holding him close.

It felt strange—his bare chest against Yuuri's clothed one.

_Still…_

Wolfram sighed, patting Yuuri on the back again with much more patience than before. "Since when did you become so clingy…especially with me? I don't seem to remember you being like that."

A hard question with an even more difficult answer. "Since I…y-you know…"

"Almost lost me?" the blond ventured. It was guilt; pure and simple. How many times were they going to go through this? First, in the baths and, now, in bed.

"Umm…yeah."

Wolfram's words were true, he had to admit. That's what started it all…or, at least, it seemed so. But holding onto Wolfram felt right and all was good in the world when he did it. It was a secure feeling not unlike "home" with the exception that, now, he didn't want to take that for granted.

"Well, in time, things will be different. But, they will be okay, too."

Yuuri smiled against Wolfram's neck. "That sounds like something you'd tell Greta."

Wolfram hugged Yuuri back with soft, reassuring pats. "I have…a hundred times…and I've always been right."

"Wolf?"

"Hm?"

He closed his eyes and whispered a sincere "Thank you."

Wolfram's voice was warm, too. "You're welcome."

The room fell into silence for a moment and then:

"Wolf?"

"Yes?"

Yuuri settled down next to the blond but wouldn't think of letting go, arms still possessive. "Would it be okay for us to be like this? Just for a little while, I mean."

The blond struggled to keep from smirking at the request. He wasn't surprised at it—considering the position they were in at the moment. "Sure, if it makes you happy."

"Does it make you…happy?" Yuuri asked reluctantly. "Maybe, kinda…? I mean, I'm fine and all because…if you're fine with it…I think and…you know, if not…"

Wolfram sliced a look at him. "Shut up and hold me, Wimp."

"Thank you!"

"Whatever."

.

* * *

**Author's Note**: If you would like the recipe for "Wolfram" cookies, just let me know. Baking is a hobby of mine.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

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"Home is not a place. It is an outlook."

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.

"Your majesty, I was wondering if you and Wolfram were hungry. You both missed dinner," Conrad said as he entered the royal bedroom carrying a large tray of food and wine. His enigmatic smile was in place as usual, but there was a slight spring in his step which revealed how pleased he was that Yuuri and Wolfram had managed to form some kind of peace between them.

"Hmm?" Yuuri sat up in bed, stretched to work a kink out, and pushed his raven hair out of his face. "_Conrad_," he said the name almost as a yawn, "hi."

Groggily, Yuuri turned his head to where he thought Wolfram would be only to realize that he had been sleeping all alone. _Weird…_ He tussled his hair as he looked around the dimly lit room, kicking off the red and white blanket now tangling his feet. "Wolfram is…?" The double black turned his head in the direction Conrad was looking. "…Over there, I guess…"

In a chair pulled over by the window, Wolfram slept quietly with his hands folded neatly in his lap. The curtain had been drawn back and, it seemed, he had been looking out of it.

Conrad put the tray of food down on Wolfram's nightstand. His smile had disappeared and he walked over to his sleeping little brother with a sense of purpose. "Not again, Wolfram," he sighed with disappointment, folding his arms against his chest and taking in the sight with some concern. "I thought you had stopped doing this long ago."

"What's up, Conrad?" Yuuri asked, feeling more than puzzled.

Conrad tried to smile reassuringly at Yuuri, but it took a bit of effort to do it—and not convincingly at that. "It has been over a decade since Wolfram has done this…as far as I know, anyway. Though, during the last war, it was practically every night…or so I have been told." Conrad's brown eyes seemed to look into the past and not fondly. "When Wolfram is in pain or is deeply troubled, he tends to do this." Conrad gestured to the sleeping form in the chair. "He crawls out of bed in the middle of the night, finds a chair, and stares out of the window…for hours…into the night sky."

"He…does?" Yuuri watched Wolfram's face. Which was he? Troubled or in pain? If it was physical pain, Yuuri might be able to do something about it. If not, Gissela could be summoned to help Wolfram out.

_But, what if something's bothering him?_

If he was troubled, surely, Wolfram would have someone to go to. Yuuri liked to think that Wolfram would say something to him and, if not him, then Gwendal would be his next choice. Then again, lately, it seemed that Gwendal might actually be Wolfram's first choice. And the thought of that sudden "switch" bothered Yuuri. He didn't deal well with change and Wolfram's problems should be his own as well.

_Yes, should be…_

There was something between them—something as powerful as it was complicated.

Conrad reached in gently and scooped up Wolfram in his arms. "He's so light," Conrad murmured with displeasure and Yuuri's ears picked up on it. Then, with a gentle turn which left Wolfram's legs swinging slightly, Yuuri's godfather said, "Well, I'll just take Wolfram back to his room."

The blond was now nestled against Conrad. His eyes were closed and his head tilted at an angle which showed off the young fire wielder's well-sculpted face. But there was something, a frown between his eyes.

Strong, attractive, striking…lonely…

Yuuri sat up in the bed, cross-legged and mussed up his hair a bit more, hiding an apple blush coming to his cheeks because he could feel it coming on. "Wolfram…can stay. I'm fine with it."

Conrad gave a benign kind of smile this time—the way he always did when he disagreed with Yuuri. Even though he may be the king of the country, Yuuri was young and his kindness could, ultimately, be cruel without even knowing it. Peace between them was good, but keeping distance might be good, too.

"I don't mind taking him back. It's easily done and my brother's not a heavy burden to carry."

Yuuri shrugged with slight embarrassment but explained, "He's already been here past dinner and we've got food, too. So, I'm okay with him staying the night." The double black motioned to the closet. "His things are still here, you know." He could feel himself babbling. He was babbling, wasn't he? "So, like I said…"

The double black pulled back the blankets and made room for Wolfram to be put down. Doing so, Yuuri could just imagine the worst case scenario: Conrad taking Wolfram back to this room and the blond suddenly waking up along the way—embarrassed to be paraded like that down the corridors of Blood Pledge Castle in full view of everyone. No, this was for the best even if Conrad didn't entirely understand the situation. Then again, sometimes, he really didn't understand himself.

"Thanks, Conrad."

"You're welcome, Your Majesty."

"It's 'Yuuri.' After all, you named me." The double black gave a quick smile and then diverted his attention back to Wolfram. "And, don't worry about Wolf. I'll take care of him."

That got Yuuri a sudden, disbelieving look from his godfather. Yuuri saw it and, in some part of his heart, he had to admit that it pained him. He wanted Conrad to believe that he was telling the truth—that he could really care for Wolfram if the blond needed it. "Seriously," Yuuri insisted, feeling awkward because his veracity was being questioned. "Just leave everything to me."

The double black escorted his godfather to the door. "It will be fine and I promise that we will both eat something at some point." He opened the door and Conrad gave his baby brother one last parting glance.

He was concerned. No doubt about it.

There was something else that had gone unsaid and, on Yuuri's part, he knew exactly what it was. As he closed the door, Yuuri took in Wolfram's dozing form on the bed. During the past six months, he had found Wolfram—countless times—sleeping in a chair by the window. He never understood mainly because prideful Wolfram never explained himself to him. Yuuri thought about those times and felt ashamed. He never said a word—thinking it an odd habit. Worse yet, all of those times, he didn't even bother to get out of bed to put a blanket on Wolfram. He just let him sleep there, alone, and with only starlight on his face.

An alabaster form, both perfect and unreal as it slept in an abandoned place.

Now, Yuuri understood that it was a bad sign. And, he made a quiet vow as he approached the bed that he would never let Wolfram do that again—not without questioning, not without getting the real story—pushed until he got it. And, if Wolfram wouldn't tell, then, Yuuri would pull up a chair beside him and share the moment. Either way, Wolfram wouldn't be alone.

The double black leaned over the bed as he pulled up the covers only to see a pair of sleepy, green eyes squinting up at him.

"Oi, Wolf," Yuuri said softly, still intent on tucking him in.

"I thought I heard…" He yawned in the middle of it and finished with, "…Must have been dreaming."

The double black shrugged. "Maybe, you were."

"What time is it?" He propped himself up on his elbow, becoming more awake as he looked at the darkness of the open window and, then, the candles burning in the room. "Oh, bother…gotta go. It's pretty late."

"Stay," Yuuri encouraged, going over to the closet and taking one of Wolfram's nightgowns from the hanger. "Here, put on this." He balled the cloth up and gave it an expert toss in the blond's direction.

Wolfram didn't know whether to be ticked off that Yuuri was giving him orders, severely pissed that his silk nighie had been crushed into a makeshift baseball, or flattered that Yuuri still wanted his company after a long day.

The double black went to fetch his own pajamas from the drawer. "I told Conrad, when he came, that I'd have you stay here…" He glanced at the nightstand and added, "He dropped by to bring us some dinner."

The blond gave a glance, too, at the plates of roast chicken and red potatoes with two goblets of spiced wine. "Thank you for that," he said carefully, getting the feeling that there was more to the story. Then, his mind snapped to the last thing he remembered before falling asleep. He'd been in the chair. Now, he was in the royal bed.

"Conrad put me here…I suppose," he muttered sourly under his breath.

"Uh, yeah," Yuuri agreed as he buttoned up his pajama top. "He kinda did…but I didn't think you wanted to be carted back like a sleeping child…which was his original plan."

Wolfram nodded gratefully and took a goblet to drink. "Thank you for that." He sat up more in bed and took a healthy gulp—feeling grateful for Yuuri's interference.

"So, Wolf, I guess you were wrong." He turned back to the bed, now wearing his blue pajamas with a pile of black clothes tossed down carelessly at his feet. Wolfram cringed inwardly—knowing the maids would have a field day with that. It looked like…like evidence that the two of them had… That he had undressed Yuuri in the middle of the room and…

The blond shook his head to rid himself of stupid thoughts.

"Wrong? What was I wrong about?"

"Well…" Yuuri said with a smile coming to him. "Both you and I will have to sleep in picnic crumbs tonight."

"Crumbs? Oh, that…" Wolfram stifled a laugh and put the goblet to his lips again. "Suppose so…but it's a big bed."

The double black brightened. "You know, I've always wondered about that." He grabbed a plate of chicken and took a fork—walking around to his side of the bed now. "I wonder why it's that way. Tradition, maybe?"

Wolfram placed his palms on either side of the goblet and rubbed the sides back and forth, feeling the silver metal moving smoothly between his hands. "Truth?" he asked. Yuuri was still so naïve sometimes.

"Yeah," Yuuri grinned, stabbing a piece of potato and popping the small chunk into his mouth.

Green eyes rolled slightly as he was thinking of the right way to phrase it. Then, when nothing came to him, he decided to just blurt it out. It was in his nature to do so anyway. "Well…most maous preferred to have their royal concubines and mistresses _comfortable_…which means having a bed that can service a number of lovers at once."

Black eyes bugged. "At…once?" he coughed.

Wolfram could see food in his mouth. It was disgusting and he wrinkled his nose at it.

"Yes."

The double black put down his fork. "Are you saying that the maou did…the…_you know_… 'this' and 'that'… with more than one person in the bed?" An audience? It just seemed so incomprehensible, so mortifying. "What about his…or her…husband or wife?"

The corner of Wolfram's mouth ticked a smirk. This was, obviously, the kind of thing Günter had been "editing out" of his lessons. And, the blond was certain that it was not for Wolfram's sake as fiancé.

"It has always been quite fashionable for the royal spouse to have a separate bedroom." He scratched his chin a little and said, "Though, there was the case of the seventh maou who had his wife's bed placed next to his."

Now, things had moved from the realm of "perversion" to "absurd." But absurd was something he was more comfortable with.

"Two beds in the same room?" He looked at Wolfram incredulously. "What were they, a 1950's TV husband and wife?"

Wolfram didn't understand the question and simply blinked at him. Sometimes, Yuuri just didn't make any sense. And, maybe, Wolfram decided, he needed to pay more attention to that—to the ways that they were different. No matter how often he tried to model what was "normal" in Shin Makoku, in some ways, Yuuri would simply never be that—normal, average. The common man.

It made Wolfram feel lonely just knowing he had to explain the world famous seventh maou, Nathan von Hart. Even small children knew about him.

"The maou stayed by her side out of a sense of duty and fathered only one child with her from the consummation of their arranged marriage. But, really, the seventh maou simply didn't fancy her…with her being as kind-hearted as she was plain and uninteresting," Wolfram clarified.

"That's a little harsh, Wolfram," Yuuri said between bites of chicken. "People can't help what they look like."

Wolfram took another sip of his wine. "I can show you the paintings of her and their daughter. It's well accepted about her looks." He took another sip. "Most royal marriages are simply that…formal contracts between two noble houses so that resources…wealth, lands, power…can be pooled. With the exception of my mother's second marriage, it was true for her."

"But," Yuuri defended, "I get the feeling that she really loved Conrad's father, Dan Hiri."

Wolfram took a sip and held the wine in his mouth a little longer before swallowing it. "Maybe, but… With my honorable father, at least, they had an understanding about each other…until he died. She relied on him…and he protected her…from any dangers, at court or abroad. At least, that's what I remember."

_That's right_, Yuuri thought, remembering Wolfram's letter.

"She got half of her independence after that death." He narrowed his eyes into his drink, remembering the dark days which followed. "And she was very relieved, once you came, so that she could live life according to her own rules. But I was so angry about that and…" He stopped abruptly. Wolfram examined his cup, pretending there was something interesting about it. There wasn't much drink left, though. "An arranged marriage…a contract…is something all nobles should expect. But Mother is rewriting the rules now. I can't stand the way she acts…going from heart to heart." He glanced at the cup. "Though, I would be dishonest if I were to imply that there wasn't a time…before you came…" He suddenly drained the last in one go and wiped his bottom lip with his thumb. "I was very much like her back then. I can't deny it. So, because I understand, I guess…I have no right to judge."

The double black pushed his potatoes around on his plate. This was the first time that Wolfram had truly opened up to him. This meant that the blond trusted him on some level. He didn't want to mess things up now.

"Come on…you're not like that, Wolf. Both you and I know that."

"Not anymore…I suppose…" Wolfram sighed and twirled the empty cup.

The double black turned to the fire wielder and gave him a hopeful smile. "Try to eat something, hmmm?"

Wolfram thought about his suggestion but didn't act on it.

Okay, then, he'd try another tactic. "If you're not hungry, just change your clothes…okay? After all, I don't think what you're wearing would be all that comfortable to sleep in."

With a nod, he placed the goblet back and took up the nightie in his lap. "Suppose so…" he agreed but with some hesitation. "It's just that…"

"Just what, Wolf?" Yuuri asked, taking another bite of what was now lukewarm potato.

Wolfram hesitated again, but, in the end, decided to return to his blunt speech. "I just feel…that I don't belong here…" His eyes took in the room. "I think that I've intruded in your life long enough."

"Wolfram?"

"Yes?"

Yuuri put up the remains of his meal. "Just put on your nighie and let's go to sleep."

Wolfram gave a vague nod to that and began to unbutton his shirt. There was no point in arguing with Yuuri when the double black was certain he was doing the right thing. And it would serve no purpose to point out that they were losing whatever common bond they had before now.

If changing clothes and staying the night made Yuuri content; so be it.

Ignore.

Pretend.

Let it die quietly.

Wolfram settled down between the crisp sheets thinking, _Maybe, Yuuri's way wasn't so bad after all._

"Wolf?"

"Hm?"

"Should I blow out the candles, Wolf?"

"No, don't bother. I can do that," he said with a slight flick of his hand, using his fire magic to snuff out all of the candles in the room.

The wicks still burned an orange-red.

And, then, there was darkness.

* * *

Wolfram woke the next morning to birds chirping, a cold shoulder thanks to the blanket being tugged awkwardly at his waist, and a certain double black cuddled up against his back.

The blond sliced him a hard look.

There was a time when he would have been overjoyed at this "progress"—as he would have seen it back then. But Wolfram had grown weary of "anticipation" and "disappointment." The highs and the lows were bad enough but the "in between" times taught Wolfram that there was a difference between "living" and "existing." And, no matter how kind Yuuri was at night, things between them would always be different in daylight.

To be entirely honest with himself, he was now different in daylight. The neck of the nightie sagged and he could easily look down at his scar.

Wolfram gathered up the material in his fist and pulled it roughly to his chin.

Life was taking its toll on his body and there would be no going back to his pristine condition. It hurt Wolfram's pride to admit that he dearly missed his "old self" and longed to return to it. But, he knew when he became a soldier that something like this would happen. And, at the time he got his commission, he thought he understood what he was in for—what it would be like. Marks on his body were just signs that he had suffered, endured, and survived. Medals of Honor. Yes, that's what he believed way back then. But, as a young male Mazoku—and at one time, a highly _desired_ one—who was just beginning to move forward, on the verge of living again...

"Damn." He wanted to cry.

Wolfram lowered his head in defeat. That had been his plan, right? To live…to find a new life and a new place for himself in this world. Letting go of Blood Pledge Castle, and Yuuri, would be the first steps to that goal. Greta, his mother, and Gwendal were the only strong ties keeping him here and delaying the inevitable. But, Greta would someday be of age and would be off on her own adventures. Still, he would see to it that she had a good marriage with a love match. Wolfram vowed to find a way for her even if no such luck had come to him. (For Greta, sweet thing that she always was, still believed in love. She would keep that illusion no matter the cost, Wolfram decided.) But such arrangements could be made quite easily no matter where he lived—whether at Bielefeld Castle or elsewhere.

Yuuri rolled against Wolfram and mumbled something totally unintelligible. Wolfram ignored the words but rubbed black locks affectionately. "You stupid, stupid wimp," the blond whispered, trying not to wake him up. "Why is it that I'm the one who has to dirty his hands?"

Yuuri rubbed his nose against Wolfram and smiled in his sleep.

Black strands fell between slim, pale fingers.

"Yes, well… For you, I'll do it. But don't expect me to stay by your side and watch for very long."

Raven hair, so soft to the touch. So pleasant to feel.

"At least, grant me that much."

* * *

"I'm truly sorry, Lord von Bielefeld."

Gissela's voice followed him, but he was in no state to listen. He just couldn't.

Wolfram exited Gissela's office and then ducked into an alcove at the sound of jaunty footsteps. The blond fire wielder had hoped to have the entire empty hallway to himself, but wasn't having any luck at the moment. Then, Yuuri's voice echoed. He was in a particularly good mood based on the tone. The words "baseball" and "teamwork" floated down the hallway as the sounds of walking got closer and closer.

The blond stepped a little deeper into the shadows and kept his walking stick at his side.

"Oh, Yuuri Heika! I would love to see this…_baseball_…you speak of! We have some jousting, knife throwing, and archery tournaments in my village. I adore those too! Manly sports are so wonderful to watch."

Wolfram rolled his eyes. Of course, it was her—again. Who else would be so persistent?

The double black, with Amanda on his arm, strolled down the hallway with Greta skipping around…practically on his heels. Greta was wearing a pale yellow dress and white sandals that Yuuri had brought as a gift from Earth. Peering from behind now, watching them go, Wolfram could see that Amanda was wearing a floor length, soft green dress and held a white, hand painted fan with dazzling peacock blue brushstrokes. So, next to Yuuri, both ladies seemed to embody springtime.

And springtime was freedom…

Wolfram continued watching them, trying to shuffle forward while making as little noise as possible with his walking stick.

"Lovely, aren't they?" Doria sighed happily as she picked up her broom that had been leaning against the wall. She closed the hallway closet door after fetching the dustpan.

"Yeah…Almost a family, right?" a middle aged servant agreed in a dreamy voice. "I mean, they look like one…and off to have tea together and everything." The clack of Wolfram's walking stick from behind caught her attention and, with a look of fright now, she elbowed Doria straight away.

"Oh no," Doria breathed, a hand over her lips as she paled. Not only had she spoken out of turn, but it was the kind of thing that would get the fire wielder's temper flaring. She braced herself for it. The only good part about the situation was that Wolfram could no longer run after Yuuri at full speed. But, that didn't mean he couldn't throw fire and bellow his lungs out.

She would have to apologize and, worse yet, clean up Wolfram's mess once Lord von Voltaire got through lecturing her.

Both servants cringed and waited, and waited—until.

Wolfram glanced down the hallway at Yuuri's happy profile. He was patting Greta on the shoulder, carefree and glad with the things—and people—surrounding him.

Even Amanda seemed pleased, laughing behind her fan at their private joke.

Joy. Yuuri had that now.

"They certainly do look good together," Wolfram agreed and slowly made his way in the opposite direction, toward his room.

He was tired—tired of this day. And he didn't want to dwell more on anything. Numb. That was all he was feeling and all he really wanted to feel.

The blond leaned a little heavily on his walking stick as he went.

Click.

Steps.

Click.

Steps.

He focused on the sound of his walking stick; his lone companion. He would keep little things in his mind to occupy himself until he felt ready to deal with more.

_Keep it simple._

But, he knew that, in time, he would have to deal with everything. To settle down, to make plans. _What would be the fair thing to do?_ he wondered, trying not to be bitter. Doing the honorable thing, the right thing—that was him. But, he was feeling centuries older now and he hated it.

Click.

Steps.

Click.

Wolfram was about to turn a corner when he lifted his head up to see Conrad suddenly standing before him. How his older brother could appear and disappear so quickly was beyond him. And, sometimes, it was maddening just how quiet the man could be. But that was from his advanced soldier's training and experience. And it was a skill Wolfram clearly envied.

"Weller," Wolfram greeted stiffly and continued on, hoping not to get caught in a long conversation. His heart wasn't in it and, frankly, fatigue was settling in.

Brown eyes drifted from Wolfram's features to the happy trio at the far end of the hallway, their faint voices snagging his attention. Then, concern. The brown eyes returned immediately, searching his face for something.

"Stop it," Wolfram ordered wearily as he continued in the direction of his bedroom, the walking stick clicking monotonously. "I don't want to hear anything. And, while you're at it, don't borrow trouble…or draw any conclusions of your own."

He didn't need it—the concern, the pity, the regrets. None of it.

_Don't think. Don't talk. Just keep going…_

"But, Wolfram…" Conrad followed him a few paces and, with little effort, walked at his elbow as he turned the corner. "If you feel like telling me…talking to me about…"

"No," he interrupted.

"Gwendal, then…" Yes, Conrad would keep on trying. This was his baby brother, after all. "We'll go over to his office now."

With an annoyed sigh, Wolfram stopped mid-hallway. "Fine. We'll talk here and now." He stared into brown eyes again to prove that he was serious. "If you want to know how I feel, I feel tired. And if you want to help me out, tell everyone that I would prefer to miss mother's drinking party tonight in favor of reading a good book and then going to bed…on my own. That's all."

The blond continued on his way without looking backward. Yes, those were his plans for the evening. But, he had one other task to perform, too.

He had a few more letters to write.

* * *

"Uh…Conrad?"

"Yes?" That enigmatic smile was back. Yuuri's godfather had taken up his place next to the large, full length mirror that the servants had left in the room so that their maou could get ready.

The double black sulked slightly at his image.

His hair had been unruly, taking a good thirty minutes to tame. His socks were too tight and nothing else would go with the new, polished shoes that he had for this evening's party. (It wasn't as though he could wear his white gym socks. Yet, they felt as though they had the same thickness as the monstrosities that he had on now.) And he no longer wanted to think of his underwear issue. Could thongs be cut up any more uncomfortably than they already were?

Yes, they could.

Yuuri tugged at the red cape fastened to him by a large, emerald brooch in a platinum setting. He didn't like the feel of the heavy jewelry nor did he like the black "dress clothes" that he was wearing.

Life was simply working against him.

"Please, if you wouldn't mind, tell your mother and Günter that I will not be wearing the crown tonight. I actually want to enjoy myself this evening and not have a heavy crown pressing down on my head all night long."

Conrad smiled at that. "Well, we do have more than one of those. I think I can find a lighter crown that is gold with red velvet in the treasury room…though, I think the last time it was worn it was for a royal wedding."

"W-Wedding?" Yuuri swallowed thickly, remembering his dream with Wolfram—as "maou"—introducing his bride. And, strangely enough, that "bride" had spent the better part of an hour with him today at Greta's invitation. Apparently, Amanda could make some rather impressive paper dolls.

Too bad they all reminded him of Wolfram.

"N-No thanks." Yuuri tugged at his cape again. "I think I'll just go on without a crown. I can put up with this, though." Another useless tug, which didn't do the material of his suit jacket any good.

Conrad approached him and easily readjusted the brooch. "This should help you a bit."

Yuuri smiled at his godfather in appreciation. "Thanks so much! Usually, Wolfram helps me with this kinda stuff and fusses over me…" _Yes, almost every time, but…_ He glanced down at his well polished shoes. "…Complaining and telling me what to do… every minute I go anywhere…" Yuuri's happy tone faded quickly as he said the final words.

As much as he wanted to deny the feeling, he couldn't. He felt lonely.

In the past, Yuuri relished the thought of Wolfram giving him some breathing space, a chance to just live life and take pleasure.

But, with Wolfram's notable absences lately, Yuuri began to feel cold, isolated. Even though he had his usual friends around him and a huge crowd of guests in the castle, it didn't matter.

_Wolfram… _

The noisy, opinionated blond was his companion, his advisor, and his…his…_something_ deep and personal…

He could see the ex-prince in his mind's eye.

Wolfram—his voice, his tone, his face with eyes softening as he adjusted Yuuri's collar, giving one last piece of advice followed by the words, "I'll be there, too. Don't forget."

Wolfram's complaints really weren't just that, now that he focused on it. Wolfram was, in his own way, coaching him—giving pointers and letting him know that slacking off wasn't an option. What he did, as king, impacted more people than just himself—it had an effect on everyone.

A baseball coach acted the same way.

"Just wondering… Where is he, by the way? Wolfram?" The double black tried to make his interest come across as casual. But, inside, it didn't feel that way. He really needed to know.

Conrad smoothed out the folds of the cape and stepped away, admiring his work. "I've been informed that Wolfram was too tired to attend mother's party this evening. So, he'll be in his room, reading."

"Tired, huh?" Yuuri tried to be understanding about that. Though, truth be told, it seemed that Wolfram had been avoiding him all day—including meals and bath time. Now, the party. Had he done or said something wrong? Last night, it seemed as though they were finally connecting. And it felt right to speak from the heart—if only for a little while. Wolfram had done the talking and Yuuri had done his best to listen. He had hoped for more of this tonight with this evening's party. In the dark, Yuuri had planned on the two of them slipping away from everything to have another casual heart to heart in the garden as they strolled around the roses and nibbled on the kind of sweet treats that Wolfram practically lived for.

Some part of Yuuri wanted to be together, to be closer.

It was a longing, really.

Besides, it would be a shame for Wolfram to miss his mother's party. Lady Cheri had done some elaborate planning for tonight's Heaven's Battle. Yuuri wasn't very keen on drinking—doing his best to have, at most, one glass of weak wine (even going so far as to have Conrad sneak water into his goblet, diluting it). It was Wolfram who had the occasional "drop too much" which was often Yuuri's excuse to leave early much to the hopeful smirks of Lady Cheri who gladly covered for him. But Yuuri knew that nothing would ever come of that "situation." He could never take advantage of Wolfram in such a state. Worse yet, Wolfram would only end up staring blankly into the opposite wall with glassy, wet eyes. And, each time, Yuuri remembered, he asked what was wrong the only answer he ever got was "Everything."

Again, Yuuri kicked himself. Wolfram had been enduring for a very long time. The first dream, where he had literally been in Wolfram's shoes, had taught him that.

Their relationship had not gotten this way overnight. So, it would take awhile for them to find a place—a kind of "relationship"—that they could both accept and live with. He didn't even have a name for it.

_And, if it didn't have a name, would that really matter?_

"Yuuri?"

"Uh…yes?"

Conrad scratched his cheek, a bit curious now. "Is something bothering you?" The soldier looked closer, almost inspecting. "Did Wolfram say something that worried you?" Now, the brown eyes were getting hard around the edges.

_He's __concerned about Wolfram, too. So, there is something!_

"Uh…why?"

Oh, great! Now, he was answering a question with a question. If that wasn't avoidance, Yuuri didn't know what was.

"I found him earlier today. He seemed…" Conrad paused, thinking of the right way to phrase it. "Distracted."

Yuuri wrinkled his brow in thought, but could come up with nothing. "Sorry, Conrad," he replied honestly, "I haven't seen Wolfram at all today. So, there's no way I could know what's going on with him. Last night, though, he just drank some wine and went to sleep…" It ended with a shrug. He didn't want to elaborate on the things Wolfram had said, seeing that as a private conversation.

"Oh." Conrad's face seemed as placid as ever, but Yuuri suspected that he was putting some thoughts together regarding his brother.

"Why?" the double black asked. "Was there something?" If there was something, then he would try to fix it.

Now, it was Conrad's turn to be evasive. "I have heard of no complaints from him…other than his wish to not be bothered."

"Typical Wolfram," Yuuri chuckled, looking at his reflection in the mirror. There was something lacking in his smile and, with Wolfram not attending, he wasn't that enthusiastic about attending Heaven's Battle—whatever that was to begin with.

"Shall we go now?"Conrad asked, gesturing to the open door.

"Yeah," Yuuri agreed, but, as he stepped forward, he had a sudden inkling about tonight. It was something…something that he could only describe as "not good." And, for a brief second, he thought he felt the maou stir darkly within.

No, that just had to be nerves.

That was all.

He was perfectly safe because Conrad was with him.

"Yuuri?"

The double black put on a smile. "No problems."

* * *

"And now, thanks to the setting of the moon, we have the perfect opportunity to witness Heaven's Battle," Lady Cheri said with bubbly champaigne glass in hand. The other nobles were there, too, with their glasses raised.

An enthusiastic "Cheers!" followed.

"Uh…Conrad?" Yuuri took a quick, tiny sip of his drink.

"Yes?"

"What does the moon have to do with Heaven's Battle?"

Conrad wanted to chuckle a little but held it back for the sake of his godson. "Didn't Günter explain about what was going on tonight?"

"Uh… Günter…" Yuuri glanced briefly into his sparkling glass, avoiding Conrad's amused look. "Too busy with everything…" Yuuri evaded and tried to back it up with a smile that was a bit too broad. The truth was that he hadn't bothered to ask. But he'd tried asking Gwendal and got the bare bones description of "a party." And, now, he was literally standing in the dark with a crowd of nobles, candles flickering in six foot iron candelabras embedded in the ground, tables filled with petit white cakes and champagne, and, of all things, the tinkling of wind chimes coming from the trees in and around the royal gardens. Not to mention silver and black pinwheels lining the garden paths…whole flocks of them spinning on into the night.

It was too much, really.

Lady Cheri placed her empty glass down on a servant's silver tray. She gave the brunette Mazoku, who was young enough to be one of her sons, a sexy wink and he blushed wildly.

"Please feel free to enjoy yourselves," Lady Cheri went on with her red tasseled fan pointing in the direction of the open French doors. "We have dancing in the Blue Room with our famous, Demon Quartet." Then, she motioned to a pathway to her right which would lead guests to the various gardens. "And this path will take you to more drinks, snacks, and more _intimate_ views of the sky."

"Sky?" Yuuri parroted and looked up in time to see a shooting star. "Oi, Conrad!" Yuuri almost shouted as he pointed up and to the left. "It's a shooting star! Look!"

The bright spectacle burned itself out.

"We should have made a wish, huh?" Yuuri said brightly. But, before Conrad could respond, a voice next to him said, "Look, a spear!"

Ignoring the speaker for the moment, the double black turned curiously back to his godfather. "Spear?"

"In this world, 'shooting stars' are called 'spears.' Thus, 'stars throwing spears' at each other later became Heaven's Battle."

"Oh, I see," Yuuri grinned. "Back on Earth, we have moonlight drinking parties with sake and snacks. So, it's kind of like this at home."

A hand tugged on Yuuri's sleeve and he turned. "A-Amanda?" he said in surprise, looking at the young blond woman next to him. This time, the slim Mazoku was wearing a frilled dress with a pale blue, sequined bodice and a wide ribbon tied smartly at the middle in a modest bow.

"Your Majesty!" she beamed. "It's so wonderful to see you again." She looked to the left and right of them. "But, where is Lord von Bielefeld?"

Amanda waited patiently for an answer. Chin tilted up, a little high and proud.

"He was unable to come," Conrad explained evenly before Yuuri could say anything awkward.

"Really? That's too bad. I was hoping to have a long chat with everyone while I was here." She returned the same confident smile that Conrad had.

"Well, it couldn't be helped," Yuuri chimed in, supporting Conrad's statement. Though, he wondered in the back of his mind if his godfather's response had been a tad too stiff. It could have been his imagination—which had been running a bit wild lately—or, possibly, not. He'd be sure to ask him later to make sure everything was okay.

"Well, since he's not here…" Amanda picked up two small cake plates, handing one to Conrad and one to Yuuri, "would it be okay if I tagged along with you two and Greta tonight?"

Forks followed.

Yuuri took another quick sip of his drink before placing it down on the long, silk covered table next to him and accepting a cake fork from Amanda. Conrad did likewise.

"Sorry, but…Greta's spending time with Anissina. They've got a telescope set up… and will be having their own party," Yuuri muffled in between bites, "way up there." He pointed at the highest turret roof.

"Ummm…great cake," he added. The cake had lemon filling, one of his all time favs. Enthusiastically, he cut himself another bite with his fork while his amused godfather looked on.

"Oh, I see…" Amanda nodded sadly at that information. Her voice seemed depressed.

Yuuri stopped himself in mid bite. He could sense her disappointment and, not wanting her to feel neglected, offered, "You can still hang out with us, though." He popped the piece of cake into his mouth as he turned to his godfather and said while chewing, "That would be fun, huh?"

Diplomatically, Conrad bowed to Yuuri's words.

"Great!" Amanda agreed, "We can all be together."

Conrad looked at the two young people standing before him. There it was again. Something was lacking in Conrad. Yes, they'd definitely have a talk once this party was over.

"It will be an evening to remember," she added, taking up Yuuri's drink from the table and handing it over to him sweetly. Conrad politely declined his.

So, with a happy hum, Yuuri got ready to have a good time. In fact, it felt nice to have friends together, to be part of a group. And, when Amanda laced one hand through Yuuri's arm and one through Conrad's, he felt even better.

Yuuri finally felt his own age. He was young, having fun with friends, and there were snacks abound. The night had a kind of magic all its own and a very pretty girl was entertaining them. Her blond hair glistened in dancing candlelight.

So, with Amanda leading the way, they began their stroll around the castle gardens. The path stretched on before them with the end darkened. What would be there would be anyone's guess.

Another light streaked across the sky and the three of them marveled.

* * *

"Gurrier, sir!" a soldier wheezed, very much in relief at seeing the red haired spy leaning casually against the castle wall a few meters away from him.

Yozak was dressed up for this party—clothes only one step down from that of a noble's. He looked nice enough to blend in without drawing attention to himself. He was wearing a white, long sleeved shirt with ivory lace at the sleeves, a charcoal grey vest with a row of buttons down the front, a black leather belt, and tight trousers nicely framing every inch of him down south.

With his orange hair and fair face, the castle spy was still a head-turner no matter what he wore. And, he felt his ego being stroked when the soldier who was attempting to get his attention stopped and stared like a giddy barmaid.

"Yes?" Yozak said politely.

The soldier shook his head to clear it. "Sir! Sir, I've just seen…with my own eyes…that scoundrel, that trouble-maker, on the castle grounds. I think he was heading for the path leading to the kitchen."

Now, Yozak's pleasant features took on a very serious, but equally sexy, look. Again, the young Mazoku had to struggle to keep his attention focused. It was tough being a young, impressionable soldier these days—especially with Yozak being dressed up as he was.

"Who, exactly?" the spy demanded.

He pointed back the way he'd come and said, "That Alec…Alec Barth."

Rushed footsteps.

He began following Yozak as they made their way towards the path the servants used which was a short cut to the kitchen.

"Alec Barth? Was he armed?"

"No way to tell…but, I'm guessing 'yes.'"

They continued to walk but at a much faster pace now that the guests were behind them.

"What was he wearing?"

The guard closed his eyes for a brief second, picturing the young man in his mind. "He's dressed in a black, hooded cotton cloak. But, I distinctively saw chain mail sleeves and a flash of something that looked like leather brigandine. He shook his head at that. "Not good."

Yozak knew that leather brigandine was 'middle class' armor—unlike the expensive, personally constructed armor that the nobles often used. Brigandine was a high quality, long leather vest with small, metal plates sewn inside. Add a mail shirt to it, and the warrior would have significant coverage and could withstand attacks if well skilled in battle. To Yozak's knowledge, Alec Barth had no formal military training and never walked with the gait of a warrior.

So, that was a relief.

However, Alec Barth did have one thing going for him. He was an angry young man. And angry men had a habit of acting impulsively, rashly—creating the kinds of trouble and regrets which lasted a lifetime.

"Anything else I should know?"

The Mazoku guard nodded, doing his best to jog along next to Yozak. "I saw him carrying something. I couldn't see what."

"The shape?"

"Wrapped up in cloth…no way to tell."

The spy was at a full run now. "Then, why, the hell, didn't you stop him?"

"There were guests everywhere at the time and Lord von Christ had ordered that nothing… 'absolutely nothing' should ruin tonight."

Mentally, Yozak rolled his eyes. Yes, Günter probably had said that. But, it wasn't an absolute rule. He just wanted this last event to go off without a hitch. Only a guard as green as the one next to him would take things so literally.

"So, I ran to get help and found you!" the soldier explained, putting a hand to his head to keep his helmet on.

Roughly, they swung open the door to the kitchen but found it full of the staff milling to and fro.

The orange haired spy frowned. "There's no way he could have come through here without being seen," Yozak said and, then, he waved with a full grin at the girls.

"It's Yozak!"

"Yozak!"

"Oi, Yozak!"

"Wha-?" Doria tried to shoo him off with a happy smile. "We're a bit busy now…come back for tea and 'conversation' in a little bit, eh?" She stepped sweetly up to him and said lowly, "I'll let you have some of my cookies." Her eyes darted to the man beside him. Young, brunette, cute, and impressionable…perfect for her best friend who was, even now, practically drooling over him from her bubbly sink of dishes. "Both of you," Doria clarified.

Yozak grinned boyishly and slung an arm around the young soldier's shoulders. "Okay! We'll come back later." The two backed away from the kitchen, closed the door, and then bolted. The spy could hear the soldier next to him breathing hard. "There's a door over here," Yozak barked. "Our suspect had to have gone in that way."

"Right!"

Yozak threw the door open only to see a robed figure at the far end of the hallway disappear to the left, his left hand holding a scrap of parchment. Alec had gone down another servant's hallway. The spy was beginning to suspect that this wasn't just a spur of the moment thing. He had some knowledge of the castle layout.

"That's him!" the soldier hissed. "I remember him from his audience with Yuuri Heika. He was just like that…walking like he owned the world and was pissed off by it at the same time."

Yozak agreed. "Let's go!"

* * *

The closet was wide open as were the three large trunks that Wolfram was packing (oh, so leisurely) in between drinking his two bottles of wine. Yes, drinking and packing seemed to go well together. But he never thought so before this night.

Gingerly, Wolfram put his favorite quill set down into the first trunk and then, almost absently, reached for his goblet of spiced wine, turning in his chair for the balcony once he did so. To be entirely truthful with himself, Wolfram always enjoyed Heaven's Battle. The brilliant lights in the sky only lasted for a fortnight with one particular evening being the brightest of all. The meteor shower took place every decade or so and, rumor had it, the astronomers had proclaimed that this evening would be a spectacular show. On such nights, Wolfram kept the door to his balcony open to see if he could spot any spears raining down from the skies. And, he'd witnessed a particularly impressive green one the week before.

Too bad he had no one to share it with. No one he could talk to about it without sounding a romantic fool.

White spears were common and symbolized happiness in the months ahead. Legend had it that when seeing a green shooting star, the viewer had to unbutton his shirt so that the good luck could come in. But, if one failed to do so, he would be showered with bad luck.

Wolfram scoffed at the legend. His life could not get any worse than it was right now.

He glanced at his bare desk. The usual paperwork was gone and, in place of it, were three letters sealed in red wax. Wolfram had written them: one to his mother, one to Gwendal, and the final one to Yuuri. Yuuri would be the hardest, he knew, because of all that they'd gone through together. But, after his appointment with Gissela today, he knew that this was the only course of action he could take and still keep some measure of control. Odds were that Yuuri would try to understand but would insist on keeping him in his life, on his terms, and Wolfram had grown weary of accommodating a wimpy king's every wish. Yuuri was a good person, he knew, but even innate "goodness" had a limit.

Besides, nothing could be done now—now that the letters were written and the ink dry. Still, some nagging part of him worried about Yuuri. He was always slow to adapt to change and wanted to live life with his wheels spinning—keep everything as is—but Wolfram was certain that Yuuri had seen it as balance in a chaotic world.

_He mistakes the sunset for the sunrise_, Wolfram thought as he pulled back the green curtain and opened the door to his balcony.

Maybe, he'd see more spears tonight. But, when he was a child during the height of the war, he saw them as "tears," not "stars."

Heaven was crying.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

.

.

"We lost him," Yozak spat as a curse. The spy knew this castle inside and out. How could this happen?

The young soldier pulled uselessly on the door handle closest to him, sending up a stale, wooden smell. "No use. Locked." He turned back to the spy and asked urgently, "Sir? Do you want me to try all of the doors along this hallway?"

"Yeah," the spy agreed because time was running out, "and if you don't turn up with anything, go back to the party and find Lord Weller." He thumbed in the general direction. "He needs to know about this situation. We have to see if he can call in his men _quietly_ because Lord von Voltaire has most of his best men assigned…and I'm sure you're one of them…to act as security for Heaven's Battle. Not to mention those nobles panic easily." He ran his fingers through his orange hair with frustration and cursed under his breath. "Voltaire's men are scattered about the castle and grounds… No way around it, Lord Weller is our best bet."

Being given his orders, the young man gave a serious bow and then began searching the doors. Meanwhile, Yozak ran on.

* * *

"Now, really," Amanda said as she handed a flower-shaped chocolate on a stick to Yuuri, "these treats are absolutely adorable. Lady Cheri's creative touch knows no bounds." She picked up another dark yellow flower and handed it to Conrad. "Star fruit flavored white chocolate…I think." The blond Mazoku popped the flower candy into her mouth and tasted. "Hmmm… star fruit, white chocolate, orange-flavored liqueur, orange juice…spiked with a little rum." She turned her sweet face to Yuuri and added, "Cooking is a hobby of mine."

"Cooking?" the double black said, "that sounds more like a mixed drink."

Conrad shrugged with a slight impishness. "Well, Mother has always had a taste for such things…mixing drinks and desserts, that is."

"And such delicious things!" Amanda beamed, taking another treat and holding it like a magic wand. "But, our time here is at an end," she announced grandly. "So, shall we be off again?"

The flower wand waved as though granting a wish.

"Oh, look!" Yuuri pointed with his thin, white stick. "Another one!"

Amanda agreed. "So pretty!"

And, then, music notes began to play on the wind. A flute with an otherworldly sound, so very similar in nature to that of the Japanese, met their ears. And, immediately, Yuuri was entranced. His dark eyes turned in the direction, widening in awe.

There was a feeling, a connection which stirred him. In Shin Makoku, he'd so often tried to find some shred to cling to that felt "familiar." This was it.

"Can we?" Yuuri asked his godfather without looking at him, eyes still transfixed on where the music was coming from. He got a happy smile in return and the three of them continued along the path.

"I believe that this performer plays songs from the days when Shinou was a boy," Conrad explained as they passed swinging lanterns posted into the ground on six foot poles. The frosted glass spilled forth patterns that looked like stars. They had Yuuri's attention for only a second before the next few musical notes caught on the wind and Yuuri found himself walking forward at a faster pace. Amanda had to practically trot on tiptoe to keep up with him, her dress ballooned by a breeze for a second, showing shapely legs—which Conrad admired, not being able to help himself.

He was a man, after all.

* * *

It was difficult to see along the length of the corridor and only a few poorly spaced sconces lit the way. There seemed to be a dark patch on the left side where another hallway seemed to intersect. A few steps beyond that, a small patch of blue-grey light seemed to spill in.

"But, which way, damn it!"

Alec examined the crudely drawn, homemade map again, squinting in the low light as he went. "Supposed to be around here…somewhere…" he gritted.

This was annoying! He just wanted to smash something—_hard_—with his fist. He could feel his frustrations building as the seconds ticked.

This was supposed to be easy. That's what he'd been told, promised.

Too easy…especially tonight…

He continued on somewhat blindly, not liking where he was and where he was going. "No good scrap of parchment," he hissed under his breath, not wanting to be overheard and discovered. Alec felt like crushing the map roughly into a ball because things weren't matching up—not at all.

Why weren't they?

Why?

"No…wait…I think…" He twisted sharply to the right and took an almost drunken, disoriented step, tying to get his bearings. Okay. He got it and he felt a fool. "Of course! Damn!" He peered out of a small, narrow window no wider than a porthole. "I need to go up a floor. That's why nothing seems to be making sense!"

Alec let his head fall backwards, thoroughly aggravated. The dark brown hood covering his face fell heavily away. When the young man straightened up, it was obvious he was wearing an elaborate, metal-plated headpiece intended for battle. But the cheap material and ornate laurel leaf pattern design would be better fit for a fair than for real combat. But, it didn't matter, he'd told himself. If trouble came to pass, it would buy him a second or two longer and that would be more than enough time for him to…

"Well, well… What do we have here?"

Alec turned around to see a shadow approaching him.

"S-Stand back!" he warned, drawing a very old, antique short sword. The point wavered from his shaking hand. "One more step and…I'll…! I'll!"

A laugh echoed in the hallway.

* * *

Forearms resting on the balustrade with a casual air, Wolfram leaned over the side of the balcony with the last of his drink. The first wine bottle was more than half empty, but he was content with that because another bottle was at the ready. The stars were beautiful tonight—small pinpricks of light against the velvet firmament. Yes, the spears were thrown but Wolfram enjoyed them, too—taking delight in witnessing them.

The green curtain was caught by the breeze—again.

_Annoying_.

Wolfram pushed it back while noting the sudden, haunting sound of piped music. It was as powerful as it was lonely. It seemed to speak of duty, of going into battle, but that the reward was great, too. Risk everything. Strive. Fight with blood and mud and grime. Fight with a full heart, pouring everything you have into it with the knowledge that you safeguard your homeland and those who dwell there.

Wolfram filled his goblet and went back to his position on the balcony. Yes, the old songs were good and true, but only a few people—noble warriors, and he would like to count himself among them—could actually relate and appreciate the degree of altruism that such songs honored. And, while Wolfram was not a musician by trade, he respected profoundly those who lived through and recorded the old ways of battle in song.

He lifted his drink.

"To those who came before me…and braved it all."

Wolfram put the goblet to his lips and drained it to the last drop.

* * *

Yuuri stood politely in the back of admirers, listening to a lone musician performing effortlessly with a simple, wooden flute. The elderly Mazoku's hair was thin but long, salt and peppered, locks draped out of the back of a jewel-spangled clip positioned at the back of his neck. His clothes seemed out of another era—layers of frills and tight knee socks all in shades of red with silver sparkles sewn in. Due to his hooked nose and the dim candlelight, he had a shadier character about him than most people attending the event, but also a strangely youthful appearance around his eyes as he played.

Every once in awhile, the old musician would move just so and would tilt his head to determine if the Demon King of Shin Makoku was still in attendance. It stroked his ego more than a little to see such undivided attention in a maou so young.

"Lovely…just lovely…" Yuuri remarked.

Conrad smiled. "This song is about a soldier going back into the heat of battle." He hummed a little of the tune and then sang, "Come ye soldiers…the drums and flutes are playing…the flags that lead the way…"

Yuuri nodded solemnly.

"No, it isn't a sad song, really," Amanda quickly explained, not wanting to lose the joyous feeling between them. "The soldier dies and becomes a star in the heavens." She gestured up to a bright star, twinkling down at them.

"Ah," Yuuri said, still struggling to keep his smile on his face. A story where the soldier dies was not the kind of thing he liked hearing. He wanted to save lives, not lose them. The double black looked upwards into the velvet sky. Maybe, he could think of it as the soldier becoming a guardian spirit and then shining down on Shin Makoku's peaceful land for all eternity. Yes, that would be much easier.

"Sir Weller?" a somewhat hesitant voice said behind them. The three of them turned to see a soldier standing alone and, seemingly, out of breath from his brisk walk. "Sir? I've been asked to discuss something with you."

"From Yozak?" Conrad asked with his head cocked curiously to the side. His smile flickered only for the slightest moment.

The man blinked incredulously. "H-How did you know, sir?" There was no way he could have known—no way. He could have been sent here by anyone.

Conrad motioned for the two of them to have a private conversation a little away from Yuuri and Amanda. "Yozak has a habit of doing these things when he wants to check in with me." He turned, gave a brief nod to Yuuri, and then walked further on for what appeared to be a friendly chat, his hand resting on the soldier's shoulder.

Once they had enough distance and suitable darkness, Conrad's whole demeanor changed. "What happened?" There was an edge to his voice and a sudden hardness to his eyes.

Again, the young Mazoku soldier blinked.

"I…uh…"

"Be quick about it," the second son urged. "If Yozak has sent you, that means he couldn't deal with the whole situation by himself. And that…is rare."

"O-Oh…Yes!" Now, he understood. Conrad didn't want to worry the king or his guest. That was plain enough now. And, so, without further delay, he relayed the whole story as rapidly as he could while Conrad listened with his arms folded against his chest.

* * *

"This way, Yuuri."

She took his hand, directing him a few paces.

They were alone together, making the mood change, and Amanda had said his name oh, so sweetly. Yuuri found himself obeying her without question. Along with the starry night and the sweeping breezes, she was a dream painted in watercolors on a pearl. The slight tilt to her face…her gestures… Her soft blond hair, lips, and the shape of her eyes all reminded him of Wolfram in some particular way—a decidedly desirable, feminine version.

_Beautiful_.

Yes, she definitely was. Then, Yuuri wondered, briefly, "What if things had been different?" What if he had met Amanda first instead of Wolfram? Would he have gotten engaged to her instead? Would he, now, be in love with her? In all of the mangas and animes he'd ever watched, the first girl introduced into the story would be the one to marry the handsome, albeit clueless, guy in the end. But the truth was undeniable: He had not met Amanda. He had met, and accidentally gotten engaged to, Wolfram.

_Was this fate? _

Worse yet, his life had gotten more complicated. Yuuri had felt himself growing closer and closer to Wolfram this year—more so than he'd ever done before. He'd come to understand Wolfram's private pain and social position through dreams. And The Maou, in his own way, seemed to be trying to help. But that "help" didn't seem to be very good because none of it made any real sense.

_Why? _

"Isn't this pretty?" Amanda asked, motioning to the next drinks table. It had silver glitter sprinkled about and an array of foamy dessert drinks made with strawberries and cream.

_Just the kind of thing Wolfram would like_, Yuuri thought idly.

"Princess Greta and I watched the serving staff set up this table and she said she thought you would like the drinks here best of all." Amanda was clearly pleased with herself for knowing this tiny piece of information, coming straight from Greta.

"Oh?" Yuuri said with a confused smile. He was still holding Amanda's hand and enjoying the feel of it.

A little laugh answered him, making his smile wider. Amanda really did have a tinkling laugh. It was the kind of thing he expected from a girl—a girl he liked and, by coincidence, a girl who seemed to get along with him in return.

She pointed. "There's no alcohol in these. But they taste good just the same, I'm told."

His eyes widened a little and, then, he grinned at her with a "you've got me" look. Yes, he was getting tired of dodging alcohol tonight. "Thank you" he sighed in relief, releasing Amanda's hand so that he could pick up one of the small glasses. "I really appreciate it."

He took a sip and Amanda laughed again.

"Oh, and something to wipe your face… You've got foam on your lip," she said, her tone very much amused. She was heading for the table when the narrow heel of her shoe caught into a crack in the pavement. She teetered, doing her best not to fall over like a fool in front of the Demon King when, unexpectedly, hands grabbed her at the waist from behind. Fingers, digging into the expensive fabric…

She glanced down and up again, surprised.

Yuuri and Amanda were close, cheek to cheek.

"Don't…fall…" He barely got he words out, whispered.

The double black could smell her—a kind of honey almond scent clinging to the blond curls in her hair and a creamy vanilla scent from her skin. Her fragrance was wonderful and so perfect for her.

So absolutely…_her_…

Yuuri's jaw dropped a little more when she simply turned, melded into his arms, and rested her head on his shoulder. "So nice," she sighed contentedly, "so wonderful to have been rescued by you…"

Without realizing it, Yuuri's black clad arms wound around her—feeling the material slide sensuously under his fingertips, soft and tantalizing. Underneath the silk, he could feel skin and corset, supple and hard. The corset was rigid, of course, but made her shapely and the small, unseen rows of buttons leading all the way down seemed to whisper of secrets he could uncover.

Amanda, loving the wide-palmed caresses, placed her arms around Yuuri and tilted her head up.

"Thank you," was followed by a timid kiss to the cheek, a silkiness unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

Yuuri held his breath. A girl had just kissed him. A kiss! The real thing!

She seemed to purr slightly in the back of her throat and the next kiss was pressed, catching the corner of Yuuri's mouth. The wet warmth making him crave more.

Again, Yuuri held his breath and could feel his heart beating hard. He knew that they shouldn't be doing this…so out in the open, even if it was in the dark. But, the next kiss came unexpectedly, Amanda placing her lips against Yuuri's with the softness of petals and the sweetness that he expected. Yuuri had always been told that first kisses tasted like a vague, sweet lemon flavor. Amanda had been sampling sweets all night long, so her lips were sweetened—making him dart his tongue slightly to taste. He hadn't really thought about it. It simply happened with the slight stickiness that the kiss made them share.

Amanda trembled in his arms slightly, loving the sensation that he'd given her.

"Please," she whispered, head lowered.

Too close, too near. Her breath on his lips. He held her body close against his and she slowly parted her lips, moving in.

"Oh, no!"

"Wha-?" _That was Conrad's voice!_

Yuuri broke apart from Amanda, startled and embarrassed at once. Blood rushing to his face. Roughly, he turned in the direction he knew for certain that his godfather had to be.

Partially hidden by shadows, Conrad stood rooted firmly in place, but his handsome face was tilted up towards the castle—up towards the balcony overhead.

Wolfram was turning away, silently returning to his room and shutting the door behind him with the tip end of his walking stick.

It was over.

Now.

"Wolfram," Conrad said with deep regret in his voice.

How long? How long had Wolfram been there—seeing everything but saying nothing? It was his bedroom balcony up there, Yuuri knew, and there was no way Wolfram would have been prepared to see such a thing.

The double black took a few steps backward and uttered Wolfram's name pathetically. He knew better than to call up and make a scene. Wolfram wouldn't acknowledge him now anyway.

"I didn't…I didn't mean to…" he whimpered in Conrad's direction. The sharp look that he got in return wasn't hidden, either.

Wolfram was hurting and Conrad knew it.

"I didn't plan it to be like this tonight," he finished with a shameful glance in Amanda's direction.

The young blond Mazoku nodded. "It is as His Majesty says…an accident."

Conrad seemed to regard their words before he straightened his shoulders and addressed his godson once more, getting back to business. "I came here, Your Majesty…"

Yuuri winced at it but didn't correct him.

"…Because we have some minor issues with tonight's security… Gwendal requests that you return to the castle's Blue Room and remain by his side for the remainder of the evening." Politely, he motioned the way for them to return—essentially going back the way they'd just come.

_Security?_ Yuuri nodded at it.

Not caring if it was entirely the truth or not, Yuuri easily agreed in an effort to please, following Conrad and with Amanda walking along at his elbow. As they passed, the young king noticed that the flute player had concluded his performance and was chatting merrily with two old crones by a drinks table, possibly telling a dirty joke by the looks of it. The women's cackles sounded harsh in his ears.

Yuuri resisted the urge to glance back. The magic of the evening seemed to be broken as he trudged along. The sky was still teeming with bright stars but he no longer searched for spears. The flickering candles and the gorgeous decorations were just that—things. And, as his mother was always so fond of reminding him, "When 'things' become more important than 'people,' you lose your compassion." Often, he'd wondered out of which fortune cookie she'd gotten that notion. But, at the moment, it seemed to be spot on.

He couldn't blame Amanda. He could only blame himself. He'd lived in the moment and lost his compassion and his passion—his feelings—for Wolfram.

"I am sorry, Yuuri," Amanda said, tiptoeing a few quick steps to keep up with him. The sequins on her dress grazed against the back of his hand when the wind blew alongside her dress, sending the material on the breeze.

He hummed an acknowledgement and glanced at Conrad's back. He wondered what kind of face his godfather was making now. The man's hearing and reactions were near perfect thanks to years of battle training. He had to have overheard Amanda's apology. But, at least, she did apologize. And he respected her for that.

So few people apologized in Shin Makoku.

"I'm sorry we got caught…and that we hurt Lord von Bielefeld," she clarified in soft whispers, "but not about the kisses…." She fingered her bottom lip as she went along.

Yuuri could only stare at her incredulously. How could she say that? Conrad was only a few steps ahead of them! Not to mention, Wolfram was beyond hurt right now. He had to be.

She gave a quick glance in the direction of the double black but kept walking. "Should you decide that you would like…to meet again…or make an _arrangement_," she went on evenly, and there was no way for Yuuri to misinterpret what she meant, "I would be most willing." Her voice was even lower now, but clear enough for Yuuri to hear.

Now, the young king was wide-eyed with astonishment as he stumbled on, not paying the slightest attention to where he was walking. This situation was exactly the kind of thing Wolfram had always warned him about, had always feared.

Yuuri knew that.

"I'm truly sad about the way tonight ended," Amanda whispered quickly but in a warm tone. "But, remember…as you and Lord von Bielefeld are both males and cannot go into breeding together…"

"Go into breeding…" That was the polite way Günter and the other nobles referred to pregnancy. Yuuri had heard it enough times when he studied the noble houses of Shin Makoku: the people, their spouses, mistresses, concubines, and children. No one was ever "knocked up," "in the family way," "preggers," or "had a bun in the oven." There was the one, generic term "go into breeding," and that was it.

"And as my natural coloring is very much like your fiancé's, such a child would be most pleasing to both of your families…"

Yuuri saw their small group nearing the Blue Room. As she opened her mouth to say something more, he touched Amanda on the shoulder and explained, "I can't think about anything right now, okay?" And, then, he approached Gwendal with swift steps. "Gwendal? Hi! Thanks for asking me over. Conrad gave me your message." He grinned with a hand at the back of his head apologetically. "Sorry, but I've gotta go see Wolfram right now."

"My brother?" A suspicious frown fell across the administrator's face. "Why? He's in his room." Then, his eyes darted to Conrad and, without words, he could tell that something had gone terribly awry. But, while that may be true, he was not going to let Yuuri off that easily. "To my knowledge, my brother is in his room…reading."

"Yeah, right!" Yuuri agreed a little too guiltily, practically dancing around the much older man to be nearer to the door. "But, I've gotta go. Can't wait." He pointed to Amanda and grinned while ordering, "Oh, that's right… Gwendal, you've met Amanda. Please keep her company for me tonight. I've really gotta speak with Wolfram." He gave a wink. "Thanks-so-much-bye!" Yuuri crammed in all at once.

Amanda gave a girlish shrug, wondering if the Demon King would really pass along her offer. If he did, and if it was satisfactory, she would never worry about her position in society ever again. She would belong to the royal household, give birth to the heir, and would have a nice little allowance for life.

Walking became power walking. Power walking became a jog. And, by the time he got to the door, he was at a full run. Yuuri hated the way he had to leave—forcing Gwendal to baby sit Amanda. But, there was no helping it, and it would have been rude to simply abandon her after the kisses they'd shared together.

The double black's footfalls echoed loudly down the hall as he left.

Hard blue eyes sought out brown ones.

"Conrad?"

"Yes, Gwendal?"

"Before you update me tonight, I have a question. Have you mentioned 'no running in the castle' to His Majesty?"

"Countless times."

He crossed his arms sullenly and stared at the open door.

"Do it again."

* * *

Yuuri arrived outside of Wolfram's bedroom door, breathless—bent over, hands on knees. Jogging was easy but flat-out running was a total pain in these shoes with no arch support on a stone floor. He made a silent vow never to wear them ever again.

A knock.

Another.

A pause.

Yuuri could still hear himself breathing hard. What was taking so long to answer the door?

"Yes?" Wolfram's voice was on the other side. He didn't sound upset and Yuuri took that as good news. There was no smoke, either, billowing out from under the door indicating the room was on fire. That had happened two years ago when Wolfram accused him of dancing too closely, and for much too long a time, with a young, brown-eyed duchess from Caloria.

"It's me, Yuuri." He shifted awkwardly before asking, "Can I come in?"

He really wanted to. No, to be truthful with himself, it was more of a "need" than a "want." He needed to talk to Wolfram in the worst way. Straighten things out.

Yuuri rubbed the back of his hand across his lips in case there was any evidence remaining. He worried about her scent on his clothes, too, but nothing could be done about that.

There were a series of "click-steps" before Wolfram opened the door. "I was expecting you…but not this soon..." When the door swung open, green eyes seemed hurt. But, that was something he was used to. Yuuri could handle that. However, there was also a serenity in Wolfram's face that Yuuri wasn't sure he liked. Not at all.

Wolfram stood aside and gestured—ushering him in.

"Wolfram, I…" And, then, he stopped in his tracks. The room had an emptiness about it. There were half-packed trunks, a writing desk with only three letters, and a door ajar, revealing an empty closet. There were boxes of things from Earth packed in the far corner—one in particular had blue jeans neatly folded with a beige, manila folder with large color photos half sticking out.

The room had a vague aroma of dust and spiced wine.

At this time of night, Wolfram had usually changed into something more comfortable—a white silk bathrobe that he'd gotten for Christmas from "Mama" or a pink nightie from his own mother. But, this evening, Wolfram was wearing a cotton nightshirt that was squared off at the sleeves and cut just above the knees—revealing a tight bandage around his leg instead of the usual brace. Dull, unflattering, and totally unworthy of Wolfram.

"What…?" The double black motioned to everything around him. "What's going on?"

Wolfram looked away for a moment with fatigue and then back. He'd have to tell him sometime. Now was as good as any. "I'm leaving tomorrow… in the afternoon. I have a coach ready." He took a few steps with the cane in the direction of the desk. "I was planning on just telling everyone 'goodbye' at breakfast, but…"

Yuuri's eyed darkened. "Look, I know that what you saw out there was…was…"

"Here," Wolfram offered after reaching into the small pile of letters and retrieving one in particular. "I was going to have one of the castle pages leave it on your desk tomorrow morning along with Gwendal's, but…as you're here…"

The double black took the letter and eyed it. "I've read your last letter, remember? I know how you feel about me. I already know what you want to say."

But Wolfram's expression didn't change and he didn't bother to argue back.

He shook his head. This was no good. He'd have to try harder. Wolfram was planning on leaving—again. And, this time, he was in no shape to.

"Wolf, I know that what you saw out there must have hurt you. But, you don't have to do all of this…and write this letter again…and…"

Wolfram's face brightened a little. "The ink's dry…"

He was quiet but determined. The tone and the simple words derailed the double black's line of thought. Over the years, he'd grown so used to Wolfram shouting at him when hurt or disappointed that, in some way, his lengthy rants no longer registered the way they were intended to. "What do you mean?"

"I said… 'the ink's dry'...not to mention…" He pointed to the open trunks, boxes, and the closet. "…Considering the physical shape I'm in, do you really think I could do all of this…and drink a bottle of wine…in the time it took for you to come up here?"

He motioned to the night stand. There was one goblet, an opened wine bottle, and one yet to be opened. The corkscrew still had a cork wedged.

Yuuri looked again at everything and considered the facts.

"The ink's dry on your letter. I wrote it earlier today after taking stock of all that's going on." With a slight hesitation, he suggested, "Go ahead. Open it."

"Wolf, I…"

"Open."

The double black looked down at the letter in his hands and, with uncertainty, broke the red wax seal with Wolfram watching. He unfolded the letter, the single page crinkling.

"This is…"

Wolfram nodded grimly.

"This is the end to…us."

Yuuri shook his head "no." The engagement—their last bond—was over with. Broken.

This was not the way he had planned on things going tonight—not at all. They were supposed to go to the party together. They were supposed to have spent time together—eating, laughing, watching Heaven's Battle into the night, and talking about the things that truly mattered to them.

Rebuilding.

"You know, Yuuri…" The blond struggled to smile for him. "I love…_you_."

Black eyes widened in shock. He had known it all along, being loved, but Wolfram had always veiled his affections by making the two of them an instant couple by saying "our feelings, "our wedding day," "our relationship." Wolfram had always made it so easy to push away, evade, and deny by constantly using the words, "…of course…because I'm your fiancé."

The blond lowered his head a little. "But it was never enough, Yuuri."

Eyes shining with tears, Yuuri took steps in Wolfram's direction but the blond put a palm forward to stop him. It was better to get the words out now than to keep them and regret later.

"I accept defeat," he bowed gallantly. "This ended the way it should…the way it was always supposed to, I expect."

"Wolfram…"

The blond tilted his head to the side and smiled up—a much truer smile this time. He could do it for himself. He could do it for Yuuri.

Let go.

"You know, Yuuri," Wolfram explained, "I had started thinking of what was best for you and for me. But, as I was writing the last letter, I worried…about how you'd get along without me by your side." His green eyes drifted to the door to his balcony. "But I'm not concerned anymore. That was just my pride getting in the way. I'm so good at lying to myself…and I've done it for so long…that I can't tell the truth anymore." Wolfram angled his blond head beautifully to look up and Yuuri had never seen such a confident expression on his face before. "You won't be lonely. You can take care of yourself from this point on. And I'm happy for you."

Yuuri crushed the letter in his hand. The paper buckled and the wax seal broke into pieces, falling down. "But…Wolf…"

"This is goodbye, Yuuri."

.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

.

.

It didn't seem real. Yuuri walked back to his bedroom, numb. But, it was more than just that. He felt frozen inside. That was the only way he could describe it, process it.

Wolfram, when he was finished speaking, had patiently escorted him to the door and ushered him out.

No tears.

No reminiscing.

No apologies.

Everything that they had been together and had done together vanished in an instant. Wolfram, who had either been at his side or who had hovered in the background with watchful eyes, was no longer there, no longer caring for him, no longer being there for him…

" 'What was best…for both of us' he said…but was it? To decide such a thing by yourself after all this time…?" Yuuri asked himself sadly. "It began with 'I love you' and ended with 'goodbye'."

He glanced around. Blood Pledge Castle suddenly felt bigger, emptier. Yuuri felt lost, all on his own for the first time since literally falling into this world.

And all done by him, his actions.

At one point in his life in Shin Makoku, Yuuri knew he would have said—and meant every word—that this was exactly what he wanted.

He could have adventures with Conrad—doing the kinds of brotherly things that his own overly protective older brother, Shori, would never allow him to do. And Günter, who idolized him so, was the perfect teacher—letting him off from his studies should something more important come up. Yes, and even Gwendal—who was the stern, fatherly type, placing limits on him and expecting work to be done before "play." But, it was Wolfram who seemingly got in the way of all the fun, who insisted on being recognized, who demanded more from him than what he was willing to give. And that fiery temper, those passionate eyes…but something vulnerable in them, too…

Trusting him without words…

Yuuri's chest tightened.

Yes, it had been like that.

_And, yet…_

He bit his lower lip, slowly growing defensive. _Was it such a terrible thing to ask?_ he wondered. _A break?_ That was all he wanted, he told himself. But, letter after letter, Yuuri felt himself change—shift—as Wolfram did. Yuuri knew he was resentful at first, annoyed—yes—because the letters were there, each one weighing heavily on him, and, worse yet, Wolfram was putting himself in danger needlessly. And he was probably doing it to get attention or to prove how brave he could be. Still, each mission was getting progressively more dangerous. Until, finally, the one time Yuuri thought everything was simple and easy—it was only a training session by the lake, after all—Wolfram's own men were with him… Then, someone Wolfram had trusted and instructed came up from behind and struck home with what he'd hoped was a death blow. (In his heart, Yuuri was grateful to Barth for his lack of accuracy on that day.)

The double black closed his eyes briefly, recalling the blood spatters and the hardened expression on Gwendal's face as he carried off his rag doll brother's body to the infirmary.

But, thanks to the dream, Yuuri experienced a piece of Wolfram's life. He was able to literally "be" Wolfram and everything, as a result, became crystal clear: the need to hold his head high, to not rely on anyone, to accept the inevitable even with disapproval surrounding him—

It had to be that way because the pain made him like that.

Shaped him…

"Wolfram," Yuuri sighed and thought about the morning that Wolfram had snuck in—not to sleep in his bed with him but to grab a new pair of boots because the ones he wore had been slashed by plated horntails. Yuuri remembered asking, "Do you still want to be with me?" And, by Wolfram's reactions, his instincts, it was clear that he did back then.

_But now…_

Yuuri still wanted Wolfram and would still look to him when push came to shove. Exactly _how_ their relationship worked, he hadn't puzzled out. But, he never wanted their life together to end up like this. He never wanted Wolfram to leave his side even though a part of him, intuition it was, knew very well that this day was coming.

_What I did…_

But not only would it be his fault that Wolfram was leaving, it would impact his relationship with everyone in the castle—from his godfather on down to the gossiping maids in the hallway. Worse, yet, were the little "reminders." Some of Wolfram's things were still in their—_his_—bedroom. Yuuri had found a comb early this morning and knew exactly who it belonged to. The delicate, mother-of-pearl handle was a dead giveaway.

The double black passed by a series of large, oval mirrors encrusted with colorful jewels. The last one caught his eye for some reason. Its reflected image blackened lethargically as though thick tar had been poured over the surface and an angry face dominated, gnashing teeth.

Yuuri froze as the likeness of The Maou with green cloth draped over his shoulders appeared. "Fool! Fool!" He raged with slitted eyes and then disappeared.

Yuuri staggered backwards a few steps and, then, bumped into something soft. In a flash, he turned around.

"Majesty?" a young, fat-faced maid said, looking over her shoulder. She had just come out of one of the conference rooms with a cleaning bucket, soap, and rags. "Sorry," she easily apologized, her eyes darting to see if anyone else was around. "It seems that one of the visiting nobles decided to have a party…in there…with a few bottles." She gestured to the room where she'd just finished cleaning. "Too much champagne, I expect, by the look of the mess…"

Yuuri's dark eyes turned to the door. The soap barely covered the stench of sour vomit.

"I…uh…" He shrugged and kept going. "Yeah…yeah, I guess… Sorry about that…"

Exactly why he was apologizing, Yuuri didn't know. Maybe, it was because he was king and the castle belonged to him. Or, maybe, he just felt like saying "sorry" to somebody.

The maid watched him wander off and then turned back to continue her duties. "Suppose everyone's a little touched in the head tonight…all that drinkin' and stuff…" she huffed with annoyance. When she could get into bed tonight with a nice, warm cup of tea and a snuggle with her better half, all would be right with the world.

Little things were the best.

* * *

"And then what?" Conrad asked, now in conference with Gwendal and Yozak in The Maou's Office. The three of them agreed that it was good that Yuuri was together with Wolfram right now. Even in his weakened state, Wolfram was more than a match for Alec in both magic wielding and swordsmanship. Plus, that particular section of the castle was heavily guarded.

The three of them focused on a yellowing map of Blood Pledge Castle.

"We lost him, but that's not the part that bothers me," Yozak stated with an edge coming to his voice, stabbing his finger at the part of the map where Alec had last been seen.

"What, then?" Gwendal asked impatiently, another wrinkle coming to his attractive face. He didn't need this kind of bother. Alec wasn't worth it.

Yozak's sky blue eyes took in the map again. "How did we lose him in our own castle? We shouldn't have been able to." The spy ran his finger along the marked corridor on the map. "It appeared to me, even from the distance where we were standing, that he had some sort of written directions, a map, or something guiding him. But, when I lost sight of him and followed the logical directions he should have taken, the most reasonable way of moving about the castle, he was nowhere to be seen."

"He's good at hiding?" Conrad suggested.

Gwendal "humphed" in disagreement. "He's not that intelligent. He's also impulsive and bad tempered…seeking revenge for his brother's death."

"But, would he really go after Yuuri?" Conrad asked. "After all, there are guests everywhere and the security is tight."

"Yes, and you've watched over kiddo all evening long," Yozak agreed with just a little too much enthusiasm—enough for his eagerness to sound fabricated. That got a sharp look thrown his way. And, as usual, Yozak totally ignored it.

They'd talk later.

Gwendal gently coughed into his fist, breaking the "non-argument" up and getting back to the matter at hand. "So," the administrator said, thinking out loud, "he was just looking for an opportunity to have access…to harm or kidnap His Majesty for not paying compensation for his brother's death?"

"It seems that way," Yozak agreed. "Alec Barth appears to be dressed for some kind of situation considering the leather brigandine he has on. I wouldn't be surprised if he had something 'sharp' to back it up with, either. On the other hand, if he's going in solo, one person is all we have to deal with."

"One incompetent idiot, I expect, if he's anything like his older brother was," Gwendal agreed.

Conrad scratched his cheek in thought. "Nonetheless, this situation would be more of a concern if not for the fact that Wolfram, even with his bad leg, has fire magic and swordsmanship skills. He can more than protect Yuuri." And, with a thin smile in Yozak's direction, he added "Even now, I suspect, they're making up."

Gwendal sighed with discontent, "They always do."

"So, keeping that in mind, let's send some guards to search these hallways here…here…and here…" Conrad suggested, pointing to the map. "He may have gone back outside. Just to make sure, I'll go over there…" He traced a small line. "… And search along the side of the castle."

"And, don't forget our favorite hidey-hold in the shrubs," Yozak suggested. "Remember when we were boys? We'd hide there as our fort."

Conrad's smile widened as he remembered. That was so long ago—centuries, in fact. But, it was still there and could also serve as a good place for Alec to hide considering his size and stature. "Thanks."

The orange haired spy winked back. "You're welcome."

* * *

Heavily, Wolfram sat on the bed, the mattress giving way under him with a small bounce and a springy squeak.

Yuuri was gone.

He'd left without argument or protest. He had walked away once the door was opened to him. Then again, maybe, Yuuri needed that. Some part wanted permission to go so that he wouldn't have to face the guilt of abandoning him.

_That would make sense_, Wolfram thought as he took the corkscrew and freed the cork pierced by it. Thanks to a little twist and flick of the wrist, it was easily done. He grasped the waiting bottle, suddenly noting from the label that what he thought had been spiced wine was actually a bottle of white wine instead.

_White?_

That would be fine, wouldn't it? Why not celebrate his new life with white wine? It seemed to be a nice vintage, too, and, should he get roaring drunk off of it, there would be no one to scold him. His life was his own again. He could even go back to sleeping nude like in the old days before Yuuri arrived in Shin Makoku.

Wolfram glanced down at himself through the neckline of his nightshirt, seeing the dark pink scar. Sleep in the nude…?

_Maybe not._

A knock at his door.

Another firm knock.

_Yuuri? Did he come back?_

Wolfram felt his heart beating hard and placed a hand at his chest. There would be no point in arguing. Wolfram had decided to leave, to move into the small country cottage by Hollow Lake which he had inherited from his father. Rest, recuperate, reflect and then decide for himself the next step to take.

The blond felt torn. Should he answer the door or not? If he didn't, would that make him a coward? It would certainly draw the attention of the servants along this hallway if he didn't.

He put the wine bottle and the corkscrew down.

Again, more knocking.

"Lord von Bielefeld?"

"Wha-?" Wolfram made a grab for his white dressing gown from the closest open trunk and wrapped himself in it.

Knocking.

"Yes, yes… I'm coming," Wolfram gruffed impatiently, knowing exactly who it was. And the man had better have a good explanation for coming to his room this late at night and banging incessantly on his bedroom door, possibly causing ruckus and rumors. "One minute." He cinched the waist.

Wolfram didn't need this.

With more "click steps," the blond opened the door to Chadwick. His aquamarine eyes seemed to dance with anticipation. Yes, something was up. But it was probably something very trivial.

Wolfram straightened back his shoulders, pulling himself up to his full height while doing so. He thought by showing Chadwick that he was in his dressing gown, that it was late—that he was being a _bother_—the man would simply say what he'd come to say and then leave.

"Lord von Bielefeld," Chadwick practically beamed and gave a polite bow.

Wolfram openly sighed to himself. "Is there something I can do for you…at this late hour?" He leaned heavily on his walking stick and stared evenly at the man in uniform. Whatever it was, he hoped it was something that could be resolved quickly. He really wanted to get back to his bottle of wine.

"Yes, most definitely," Chadwick said, smiling knowingly.

_Let's get this over with._ Wolfram ruffled his own hair in a disinterested way. "Fine…what is it now?" It was best to end this and not just stand around with the door wide open. That kind of thing invited all kinds of onlookers.

Chadwick's figure was framed in the doorway, but his right arm had been extended out of sight the whole time. He pulled his arm inwards and along with it came a brown, hooded person with a deeply frowning face peeking out.

He looked every inch like a small terrier about to growl.

"Who the hell?" Wolfram shot out, not understanding why Chadwick was wasting his time like this.

Holding onto the young Mazoku's forearm with a vice grip, Chadwick explained, "It's time for introductions. I'd like for you to meet Alec Barth, baby brother of Jaeger Barth…the man who damn near came close to killing you."

Wolfram's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe it.

"I found the little sewer rat scurrying down in the servant's quarters of the castle." Chadwick gave the youth a hard shake at the arm and the whole, willowy body writhed. "It would have been bad had he found you unawares and finished his brother's bloody mission."

Suddenly, the sound of merriment came along the corridor. It was a man and at least three ladies—drunken and laughing. "More nobles," Wolfram complained.

"Arrogant, self-important, pompous ass!" Alec fumed in Wolfram's direction. Emerald eyes suddenly turned to Alec as Chadwick forced him, bodily, through the door of the bedroom and closed it.

"Let's have a little more privacy. Don't need for everyone to see, eh?" Chadwick laughed with derision, searching his prisoner with one hand and finding a small dagger wrapped up in leather, a poor attempt to hide it.

With a thoughtless flip, the weapon was dumped into one of Wolfram's trunks. But Alec would remain insolent, face red with anger and body tense for a fight. His hood had fallen away and his headband and leather brigandine exposed as was the short sword at his side. Wolfram's sharp eyes saw everything.

"Good thinking, Chadwick," Wolfram praised in his usual military tone. "It's amazing…a miracle, even, that he was able to sneak into the castle past Yozak and my brothers. Dumb luck, I suppose."

Chadwick bowed reverently to the praise. Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld did it so rarely that it was a gift—even if only Alec was there to witness it.

"Chadwick?" Alec choked the name, turning to look at the man next to him.

Now that the culprit had been apprehended, the short drama was over and Wolfram was back to business again. "Next, we need to get an armed guard escort here to take our prisoner away for questioning and…"

"Now, wait a minute! What do you mean by a 'miracle' I got in?" Alec fumed as he tried to pull his arm free of Chadwick's grip but to no avail. "There's no 'miracle' to it. What are you talking about?" With his free hand, he reached into his shirt and brought out a scrap of parchment with a crude map drawn on it. Alec waved it like a flag in front of Wolfram's astonished face. "I had help!"

"Who?" the blond demanded before Chadwick could open his mouth.

With an arrogant sneer, Alec said, "My dead brother!"

The other two men exchanged confused looks.

"His letters! His personal things!" Alec boasted as he finally managed to wrench himself free of an astonished Chadwick. "My brother kept everything he ever got while living in Blood Pledge Castle. And you people were stupid enough to give it all back."

Alec glared at Wolfram, setting loose some of his wind magic and a cold, bone-chilling draft picked up in the room from nowhere. "You didn't like my brother, did you?" he accused hotly. "You were almost the same age, but you out ranked him…held that over him!" Alec began to pace a circle and a breeze picked up. "You were both nobles! He even courted you once, remember? After you came of age?"

Chadwick looked away. Everyone but Yuuri knew that to be so.

"But, now… now that you belong to The Demon King…! You wanted to get rid of my brother! Drive him away so that people would forget…that they wouldn't talk!"

"Not true…" Wolfram frowned, feeling the wind now circulating in his room. The closet door blew shut with a slam. "Your brother," he countered, "wasn't trying to be a soldier at all. He wanted me to go easy on him…_too easy_…just because I knew him! He didn't want to work. He just wanted the uniform and the status that went with it without putting in an ounce of effort!"

Alec's eyes burned. "You lie!"

Wolfram wouldn't relent. "It was so!"

The wind forced Alec's hair back—making him resemble his brother for the first time. A flash of memory and Wolfram could see himself and Jaeger as they were before coming of age—pretending to study in the library when, in fact, they were thumbing through nude sketchbooks and laughing at the naked men. But Jaeger Barth was dead now and never coming back. Brothers resemble each other if they have the same parents. That's what he told himself.

"But, I have his things! And I know the truth!"

"You know nothing," Chadwick defended in a raised voice, the sound of wind growing louder.

Alec turned to him, his furious grin changing to an expression of pure scorn. "Oh, really? Now that I know you're 'Chadwick,' I know you were the one who drew this map originally—telling how to sneak lovers into this castle! Quite a security problem that could be, right?"

Wolfram's eyes shot to Chadwick.

"Try to deny it, Chadwick! Just try!" the young man insisted, turning to the Mazoku in uniform. "I checked it against the letters the two of you wrote—talking about how handsome Lord von Bielefeld is! How shapely his ass is when he bends over during training!" He laughed because he had him there. "The handwriting's the same."

Chadwick's mouth turned into a serious scowl and he reached out to snatch the young Mazoku, only to grasp thin air.

"Yes," Alec teased, "not to mention… you're the one who sent this to me…and told me when to come…the exact time and what to wear." Alec pulled out a small note written on a scrap of parchment and glanced at it. "All this time, I thought 'Chadwick' was someone who sympathized with me." He crushed the note in his palm in disappointment. "I had no idea he'd be the one to catch me and turn me in."

Chadwick was shaking his head in denial when Alec took the scrap of paper and thrust it into Wolfram's hand. "See?"

The winds in the room began to die down.

"And, that's not all…"

"What? You dare to touch the hand of Lord von Bielefeld?" Chadwick's temper began to boil over. "And, yes, that will be all!" He turned to Wolfram. "My Lord," his livid tone barely controlled, "this deadly, unholy _child_ is clearly lying to you and has come here this very night to murder you in your bed. I will be more than happy to deal with this issue, keeping Lord Weller and Lord von Voltaire updated as proceedings go."

"Oh, no!" Alec said. "I'm not going to be the only one." He glared at Chadwick, hands fisting. "If I go to the dungeons, you will go with me!"

"Why?" Wolfram asked quickly.

He looked to Wolfram and said, "Because the only reason why my brother showed up at your training, in uniform, and with his sword…" He turned back to Chadwick. "…Was because HE told him what to do! It was Chadwick! I have the message he sent!"

Alec took a step toward Wolfram and added, "But if you had been good to my brother in the first place, loved him the way he loved you, none of this would have happened at all!" He shouted to the room, "Can't you see? You're both guilty!"

"Stupid rat!" Chadwick bellowed, grabbing Alec from behind by the nape of his neck and thrusting him bodily into an open trunk. The wind in the room immediately died when the lid was shut and the slight click of a lock could be heard.

Thump, thump, thump!

"Let me out!"

Thump, thump

"I'm not kidding and it's hard to breathe!"

Chadwick began to draw his sword with a sliding, shimmering sound. "Shall I deal with him now, Lord von Bielefeld? All he knows how to do is lie and he did come here to kill you."

"Stop."

"Excuse me?"

Wolfram took a step backwards. "You… I always knew that you and Jaeger Barth were good friends… Spent time together…wrote to each other..." He couldn't figure it out. Chadwick had a crush on him. All of his men did. But it was harmless or so he'd always told himself. "So, why?"

Chadwick's chuckle seemed off somehow, arrhythmic. It escalated into a laugh—now awkward and unpleasant lacking warmth and joy. He put a hand to his chest as he laughed again, eyes bulging wide this time.

Too wide.

Funny. It was so funny. The best part of all was that he was the only one who knew.

"Why?" Wolfram repeated, keeping his walking stick close.

"Do you know what it's like seeing the person that you love every day but can do nothing about it?" Chadwick asked, coming down from his laugh. "To come close, to even be touched…repositioning my stance or the level of my sword…" He chuckled like a sexual deviant with "sword" under his breath a few times but pushed onward. "Worse yet, my love…my Lord Wolfram…is constantly being ignored and ill-treated by the maou."

"I don't see how that has anything…"

Chadwick leaned against the bedroom door, blocking it. "How can I compete with the 'all mighty Demon King of Shin Makoku?'" The tone was angry now, almost seething. "Don't you see? Something had to be done! To show you…to let you know."

Wolfram stood rock still. He made no movement and watched Chadwick's jerky movements as he tried to pull a strand of hair behind his ear.

"So, then…when Jaeger got booted out, I realized what it was… All I needed to do was show you…" Chadwick's voice slipped to honey sweet. He came forward and reached out a shaking hand for Wolfram's face but the fire wilder turned it away.

Chadwick glared and returned to the door.

"I formed a plan… It was simple: Convince that Jaeger dunce to seek revenge. By forcing him to leave the military, he was dishonored. So, just come to the training session and, in front of all of his peers, demand a duel."

"You did…what?" Green eyes widened.

Then, Chadwick tightened his fist, eyes darting down. "Maybe, to get him to do it, I encouraged him a little too much…said some things…"

Wolfram's memory flashed back:

_There was another gust of wind and Wolfram worked to steady his papers. More crunching of grass. Boots trudging up behind him at a quicker pace this time. Something else must have gone awry. Wolfram could see a shadow when he glanced to his right—a long shadow of one of his men in uniform._

"_Hm?" The blond turned to look over his shoulder. "What do you need?"_

_A sword plunged into Wolfram's back just beneath the brown leather shoulder strap on his saber belt. The sharp, red tip of the sword pushed through his chest—splattering blood down the front of his uniform jacket, more showering blades of grass in a fine spray._

"I know but you see…" Chadwick waved both palms before him in what he hoped was a timid, calming gesture. "I was going to stop him… I even got the guards out of the way so he could get close before I jumped in dashingly. Please," he pleaded, "you must believe me. All I planned on was having you in a small bit of…_danger_…and then…"

Wolfram narrowed his eyes. "And then…_what_? You'd just happen to stroll by and rescue me?" His heart was beating so hard now that it shook him. Wolfram was certain that he'd never felt such ire and indignation in his whole life. "You'd just waltz right in…?" His voice had become bloodthirsty.

Chadwick looked away uncomfortably. Wolfram had used that tone with him before in training when he'd done something particularly dumb. "Well, you see…"

"That was it, wasn't it?" the blond roared. It was so preposterous that he couldn't believe it was true. "You risked my life…_MINE_…so that you could come along and play white knight…thinking that I would love you after that? Just fall into your arms?" He tightened his grip on his walking stick, emerald eyes burning aflame. "Well, guess what, Chadwick? I'm a man! And, lame or not, I am the white knight in this story!"

With a single, smooth motion, the blond unsheathed his sword from the elaborate walking stick and pointed it at his opponent.

"And I will not be anyone's pawn or prize."

* * *

The hallways were glowing with bee's wax candles in their sconces, sending up a gentle, warm scent. Yuuri nodded an acknowledgement to the guards as he passed them. The stone floor beneath his aching feet echoed.

This all felt real to him.

He put his hand on the door and opened it cautiously. Yes, it was his bedroom. The candles were lit and the bed made. The room smelled of fresh flowers and, by the bed, there was a vase of Beautiful Wolframs. Exactly who put the flowers in the room, the double black didn't know.

The image in the mirror, though. That really rattled him. The Maou was livid—angry beyond reason. He truly did resemble a demon in that moment, something out of a folklore book. But, Yuuri could also understand why.

He was mad at himself, too.

When the double black shut the door behind him, the room fell into darkness—only a single spotlight of white light spilled down upon his head, coming from somewhere unseen.

Something like soft, glowing blue mist flowed out of him with a pearly essence. And, within the next second, The Maou spirit stood menacingly before Yuuri, a green cloth draped over his shoulders.

Oh, but he was heated! Black, snake-like slits regarded him.

Yuuri had never feared his other self before. But, now, antagonism and resentment were radiating from The Maou Spirit. And Yuuri wasn't sure if there was any particular way to appease him.

"Fool!" The voice raised to a crescendo and the ground shook underneath Yuuri's feet. It almost felt like the work of Gwendal when truly incensed. "Had I not spoken? Had I not said?"

"I-I'm sorry!" The words just tumbled out of him. "It's just that…sometimes, I understand you and sometimes I don't… Kinda like that stylized way of speaking the samurai used a long time ago."

The green cloth across The Maou's black-clad shoulders billowed, anger still present. "Thou commands I explain…and, thus, I had done so." He pointed an accusing finger at the small double black before him. "See with thine own eyes, said I." He strode towards Yuuri with purpose. "Dolt! Thou didst not heed words delivered unto thee…"

Yuuri nodded. "I think I got it. I'm king so I make the rules in this world. People do what I say. It was the same in the dream-visions. I made them up, too."

The Maou now looked as though he were back in the classroom dream-vision—as a sensei with a particularly stupid, stupid child.

Time for review: "What was. What is. What will be!" he growled with aggravation. "All is one…one is all…but a lie, never!" He tried again with his thick-in-the-head student not understanding 1+1. "Pieces…parted from and, yet, built together as one by thy design."

Could he state it any simpler than that?

_Ummm…pieces…things…put together in new ways…? But, no past, present, or…_

Yuuri covered his mouth with his hand as he realized it. "Wait!" He looked up into The Maou's sharply angled face. "Are you saying that you were showing me pieces of things that could happen…in real life…if I made decisions one way or the other?"

The spirit nodded with a mixture of anger and relief. Previously, Yuuri thought only parents could do that.

"The stuff in dreams…the stuff in reality…" Suddenly, everything clicked. The "dream Amanda's kiss" and, later, the one in real life. The wedding she could have with The Demon King should "Yuuri" wish it. Gwendal launching a pencil into the ceiling (even though it was an accident when Yuuri scared him by opening the door). The ripped uniform in the second dream was what Wolfram was wearing when his body had been brought back. Not to mention seeing Eclesta and Xeohe around the castle. He was certain that, deep down, they still really wanted to hand his ass to him.

But, it was standing in Wolfram's shoes—literally—and feeling what it was like to actually be him that haunted Yuuri the most. "Thy mate aches o' grievous wounds…surely as Morgif had done the slaying," The Maou had told him. _I guess, those wounds may not be the kind which can be seen…kinda like being hurt on the inside_, Yuuri thought. But, then, he remembered how slashed Wolfram looked at his dream wedding, bleeding red tears. The pool of blood Wolfram was lying in. That never happened.

Yuuri's original plea from the first dream was ringing in his ears, "Help... And if you can't help me, please help him!"

"So," Yuuri deduced, "I guess, all this time, you tried your best but you couldn't help me. I was too thick headed…too clueless. So, instead, you had to help Wolfram."

The Maou lifted his chin proudly at the mention of the name. "In a fashion…"

"And what, exactly, does that mean?" Yuuri wondered aloud. Were they about to talk in riddles again? The double black wasn't sure if he had the patience for that.

The spirit moved forward once more and leaned in, placing a firm hand on the double black's shoulder. But far from a reassurance, there was actually something haughty about it.

"By thy command," he said, "he is now my heart's desire."

"Who?"

The Maou smiled at him indulgently. "My sweet Wolfram."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

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Chadwick's expression smoothed out—seemingly benign, but with something more behind it. The stance and the manner about him told Wolfram, without a doubt, that he should not let down his guard. His opponent was planning something.

"I understand your concern. But, as you can see, I have not drawn my sword." He rubbed his hands together slowly as a thin smile came to his lips. "And my confession…I'm sure…was, most certainly, a surprise to you. But, in time, you would have learned of everything anyway."

Wolfram still did now lower his sword. It was pointed at Chadwick with intent to kill, if necessary.

"Can't you see?" he asked, stepping to the right side carefully, as though Wolfram were a wild animal. "It wasn't me." He gestured to himself but still inclining slightly away to avoid sword point. "It was that fool, Jaeger. He was such an idiot, after all…so easy to manipulate."

More thumping from the locked trunk. "Stop bad-mouthing my brother! He wasn't like that!"

A thin, metallic scratching sound started and Wolfram's eyes darted to the trunk. _He's found the small dagger inside!_

And, in an instant, Chadwick made a lunge for Wolfram. He saw the desperate hand going for him and, thanks to his reflexes, darted away.

"Hello, no!" Wolfram shouted, a fireball now circling in his palm as a threat. "I won't fall for that!" He transferred his weight onto his left foot with a slow grace that he hoped would go unnoticed. He concentrated his element, making the fire burn hotter and brighter while he repositioned the sword for his enemy's heart.

Instead of looking afraid, Chadwick took a few steps back, toward the closed door, and casually polished his nails on his chest—inspecting the shine. "Well, that wasn't very bright of you."

Breathing hard, Wolfram looked up through his blond bangs. "What are you talking about?" Was the man so obsessed with him that he was intentionally misunderstanding the whole situation? Wolfram had his sword drawn and a molten fireball in his hand. His body reeked of a battle aura dark as night.

Chadwick gave a lazy grin and snapped his fingers, making a fireball of his own. It was nowhere near as large or as powerful as Wolfram's, but it was there just the same.

"Do you think that what you're doing is any kind of threat to me?" Wolfram shouted, insulted now on top of everything else.

"Oh, most definitely…" Chadwick chuckled, casting a quick eye at the blond—for, he was so beautiful when incensed—and then back to giving his nails a very good buff. "Without a doubt."

Wolfram gaped at him incredulously. Even on the battlefield, this would be a definite threat and any opponent worth his salt would make a go for him. "Seriously? How?"

Chadwick only smirked this time with a hand on his hip and it irritated Wolfram to no end. _How dare he? That ass!_

Still breathing hard, Wolfram repositioned the sword, now aiming it at his opponent's pretty face. Some of his men were arrogant about their looks. And, he had a suspicion that Chadwick valued his a little more than what he was willing to admit.

Chadwick's eyes flicked down to the tip end of the sword, the fireball disappeared, and he turned his head slightly, showing his cheek.

Then, Wolfram knew he was right.

"I don't believe you," Wolfram shot back. "I don't think you're doing anything. In fact, the very reason why we're having this conversation at all tells me that you are seriously flawed…or as our king would say, 'whacked' in the head!"

The Japanese slang word, "whacked," had become the new insult about court—thanks to a comment about one of Anissina's inventions suddenly playing "Pied Piper" and attracting mice for miles around which also attracted maids with brooms, which was a first in Shin Makoku history—and this "_slight"_ had the effect Wolfram was looking for. Chadwick scratched his chin, sizing up Wolfram—ready to shoot back.

"Well, if you haven't figured it out, yet… I guess I should enlighten you."

Wolfram rolled his eyes as Chadwick pointed to the sword poised before him. "Right now, you're having trouble just keeping your arm in position because fatigue is setting in. The same goes for your fireball. It keeps sparking with impurities burning within it—like a little twenty year old trying to keep control of his element for the first time." He folded his arms against his chest, glad he was right. "That leg won't support you for long, either…_if I go on the offensive_…because someone…" He winked at Wolfram. "…Has taught me so much about fighting with a sword. And I've learned my lessons well."

Wolfram swallowed thickly. He knew it was true.

Chadwick rattled his saber with a low chuckle. "All I have to do is tire you out…and wait."

* * *

"Hold on! What are you saying?" Yuuri asked The Maou spirit as the world around him suddenly filled with bright colors again. Once more, they were standing in the royal bedroom, still facing each other.

"Wolfram is my beloved," The Maou stated in rich, elegant tones. His eyes crinkled as he smirked with his chin up and chest out. But, then, his face paled as his snake-like eyes were abruptly drawn to the door. Yuuri practically swore to himself that the spirit could see through it or beyond it in some way, shape, or form.

"His life is in danger."

Yuuri stared up, disbelieving. "What?"

The Maou turned back in all seriousness. "This night, Wolfram's life hangs in the balance." His anger rose. "Nothing has changed! Have all warnings and dream-visions been as nothing to thee?"

"Now, wait! Wait!" The young king pointed to the door. "I just left him. He's fine and, believe me, he doesn't want to see me again tonight…and, probably, never ever again, by the way tonight ended."

The Maou's dark eyes narrowed and Yuuri felt afraid again, almost bullied.

"Thy infidelities aside…"

"Infa…What?" Yuuri choked out.

The Maou stood with feet slightly apart, his wild hair moving with the subtle flow of the blue energy which shrouded him. The face was devilishly handsome but could also be a fright, should he be angered—as he was in this moment. "The world is thine," he reminded Yuuri. "As monarch, thou must do battle…to slay or to salvage…in thy agony or in others'…all in justice's name."

Yuuri shook his head. "Didn't you hear me? Wolfram kicked me out of his room and said 'goodbye.' He's fine and everything will work out…somehow…just like he said."

The Maou spirit approached Yuuri with urgency and frustration clearly written on his face. He took him by the shoulders and dug in his nails. He said swiftly, "My heart aches for sweet Wolfram now because thou ordered me to render aid…to interfere in this world…in a time without peril."

Yuuri could feel dull nails digging in. He easily agreed. "Yeah, I asked you to help. You keep reminding me."

"No! To interfere…and be more of a part…to belong…" The Maou corrected.

Yuuri started to sweatdrop from the pressure. "Y-Yeah…yeah, I did."

The Maou brought Yuuri close and whispered threateningly in his hear. "Shouldst thou do nothing this night, and Wolfram meets his end…" Then, black snake-like eyes bore into rounded black ones. "Thou shalt not know a moment's peace until thy corpse has rotted one hundred years."

Roughly, Yuuri was shoved in the direction of the bedroom door, nearly knocking him off his feet. And, much to the double black's amazement, the blue mist returned—flowing back inside of him saying, "One…final…chance…"

"O-Okay!"

The double black dashed forward. He had to go. And, if Wolfram really was in danger within the castle walls, he had no other alternative. Something had to be done. He just hoped he could do it alone. There was no time to find anyone else.

* * *

Conrad was walking pleasantly along the side of the castle where Yozak had talked about their "fort" all those years ago. He allowed his memories to flow—recalling how he'd met the spy as a small child crying next to his mother's grave.

Was it luck or fate that they had met? He never told Yozak this, but he often thought that the spirit of Yozak's mother had guided them there to that place—for, she had chosen them to keep each other company in this life.

Yes, they had been childhood friends. But it had grown into something more than companionship after they had come of age. Conrad had always felt something for Yozak. And, he knew, that same feeling was returned. Sometimes, of course, they disagreed. When Yuuri came to Shin Makoku, Yozak was understandably skeptical. Most of the common folk were, to tell the truth. And that was one of the reasons why Conrad had been so hard on Yozak—especially when he questioned or disagreed about Yuuri's take on things.

Conrad knew that he had a foot in both worlds. He understood Shin Makoku very well—the good and bad, the prejudices and the kindnesses. But, he also understood many things about Earth—especially in its rules and contradictions. Yuuri made sense in his own, bizarre, rule-governed and typically Japanese way. But, Yozak didn't understand him. Not really. He did try, though. Not because he was a loyal subject or that he worked as the castle spy. Conrad knew that Yozak tried to accept and value Yuuri…for _his_ sake. Out of love.

That effort warmed his heart. Yozak could do things like that. And that was the reason why Conrad turned down every offer of marriage from anyone who had ever proposed. Just the idea of choosing someone other than Yozak, or, worse, having to tell Yozak he was to wed another. To hold someone else in his arms at night and…

Conrad shivered.

"Getting sick?" a voice asked, edged with worry.

The second son turned, with a knowing smile. "No, I'm fine."

"Are you sure," Yozak asked as he came up to him. Sky blue eyes searched his face for the truth. Conrad had a habit of hiding his injuries and illnesses. He always found out, though and threatened him with leeks (which he hated).

"I really am okay," Conrad returned and made a swift glance into the foliage, most certain, now, that Alec was not there.

The spy made a short hum that was not necessarily one of agreement and, then, he quipped, "I saw your brother at the drinks table over there." He nodded in the right direction. "I'm sure I could get Lord von Voltaire to make you take it easy…once we find Alec." His grin became a little wicked. "I know where there's a soft bed waiting, but we won't need to mention that to him."

Conrad raised an eyebrow. "Drinks table? I thought he was in The Blue Room."

Yozak chuckled at him. Conrad could be so single-minded. "I think your older brother is trying to search the grounds but hiding it by pretending to be sociable."

The other man laughed, "Now, that will never work." It was true. Gwendal could be gallant and perform all of the social graces by the book. But, there was something artificial about it. And the ladies, usually, excused themselves—much to his relief.

"Agreed. He's better in the war room than he is chatting up the ladies."

"Which is your job?" Conrad suggested in a coy tone.

Yozak straightened and approached him with, "Now, who, today, was unhappy with me for making the insinuation that you spend too much time with kiddo?"

"Touché."

"But, I'll forgive you," Yozak went on smoothly, coming closer with a relaxed air about him, "if we play a game of cards…or something…" He pushed his hands into his pockets, an obviously _faux_ bashful smile on his face.

Yozak was dressed up tonight and devilishly handsome in this starlight. He blew out the candles closest to him—creating a mood that he hoped was pleasing.

Conrad crossed his arms against his chest and cocked his head to the side curiously. His eyes were adjusting to the dark and he could see the spy drawing nearer. "The cards are fine but I'm not sure about the… 'or something' you're promising."

"Oh, your virtue will be safe with me," the orange-haired spy guaranteed in a quiet, sexy undertone. He took Conrad in his arms.

"Then, I'm definitely not coming."

* * *

Wolfram began thrusting in tighter movements—doing his best to put more of his body weight behind each blow. Add to the fact, he was limited to only a few positions. The blond ex-soldier put his left foot forward, took up a stance that his lithe form would accept, and then swung.

Yes, Wolfram was bleeding.

"Damn," he gritted.

His body had been slashed: arms, thighs, and waist. Each injury was a stinging, string-like pain. But, anyone who had been experienced with a sword would have known such injuries well and, so, he kept going—fighting with his whole heart. But, as he did so, Wolfram's mind was racing. Chadwick was right. He was running out of force and luck. The swordfight was draining him and battling like this—in such limited ways because of his leg—made it worse. He'd already given up on wielding his element because he almost passed out after the third fireball. Each time, Chadwick easily formed a shield of fire to protect himself. And his cruel, careless laughing never ceased.

Muscles moving, thrusting, pushing. It flashed through Wolfram's mind whether or not Chadwick was simply toying with him or if he truly intended to end this because he knew too much.

Another thrust followed by a hard swing of his sword. He managed to cut the opponent's hand. But no time for celebration as Chadwick dabbed at the gash. Their swords met again and Wolfram could feel the impact of metal upon metal—jarring him, tiring him more.

The stench of sweat filled the room.

Wolfram was taking in large gasps of air. As he repositioned, he could feel the binding he had been sleeping in, instead of the brace at night, slacken. He prayed that the strap on his leg would hold. If not, it would all be over once Chadwick had him on the ground. They'd had too many training sessions over this scenario for the man not to take advantage of it.

Chadwick was swinging wildly, enjoying himself too much_. "Death" would be the more logical conclusion,_ he devised. No witnesses meant that Chadwick could continue living in Blood Pledge Castle.

Sharp metal…plunging…

Wolfram narrowly avoided the blade again but his cheek was cut. Now, he was crying red tears down his face. The warm, ruby fluid dripped down and onto what was once a white robe. The blond's clothes easily betrayed his injuries, seemingly making him a stained, white dove.

Alec's thumping in the trunk had stopped once the fight had begun. Wolfram didn't know if it came from fear or lack of air. At this point, though, he was far from caring.

A swishing sound that Wolfram was all too familiar with. He met with his own nicked blade and pushed back, Chadwick leering at him.

The blond's sword blade had been designed to fend off an enemy. That was true. But, it was never intended to go against a well-balanced word of high caliber—the kind Wolfram had always insisted that his men should carry.

"All that needs to be done is to wait…and see… How long can you really hold out?"

Wolfram's defiant glare met him. "Until I die?" he breathed.

"Until you weaken," Chadwick returned, "and, then, you'll become mine…to do with as I please." The grotesque leer returned.

Wolfram firmly gripped his sword as he wiped sweat trickling into his eyes. No, he would never allow that to happen. He would never allow himself to fall into the hands of the enemy.

"Madness!" Wolfram shouted, driving forth even with a right leg that could barely prop him up. He had to risk it, though! No choice! He wobbled and then leaned more heavily on his aching left leg as a result. "There's no way. Do you hear me?"

A single, heavy knock and, then, Yuuri burst in all on his own saying brusquely, "I had a feeling that…!"

Wolfram's head turned. "Yuuri!" _No, he's in danger now!_

Chadwick, gleefully, found an opening and circled around Wolfram—slashing his back with every ounce of energy that he had. Green eyes widened impossibly as blood splattered from him like dark red wings.

Chadwick seemed surprised, too, as the droplets covered his face. It seemed that he wasn't expecting to win—that, somehow, Wolfram in his exhausted state, would be able to dodge somehow, or that he'd simply give in and fall forward.

Wolfram gave Yuuri a heartbroken look.

There was nothing like it between them—ever. A single, bloody tear ran down his cheek. Wolfram had done the unthinkable.

He had failed.

Expertly, he pivoted and struck home, his sword plunging into Chadwick's chest with such force that it sent them backwards towards the door to the balcony.

The door broke open with a resounding crash from the sheer weight of them.

And, they tumbled out.

Chadwick's body fell over the side along with Wolfram's sword. But Wolfram held onto the railing with one hand as Yuuri shouted out his name from within the room.

* * *

A deep, weighted thump.

Running. Boots stomping on pavement.

"Hell! It's a body!" Yozak shouted from below the balcony. Then, his voice shot out in another direction entirely. "Oi, we need security over here! And, now, damn it!"

"It's…_Chadwick_!" Conrad declared and more voices began to gather. Guards, it seemed like. Seconds later, Gwendal had joined them, his voice rumbling. Orders being issued.

Wolfram struggled to breathe and to stay conscious—to stay real and alive. But another part of him simply couldn't accept what was happening. Had he been on the battlefield, it would have been another matter. He had been trained to deal with that. But he wasn't there. He was home—a place where his mother had promised he'd always be safe.

_Always…_

"Always" was a lie.

Droplets of blood rained down from Wolfram's torn body.

"Up there!"

Gwendal's voice. Wolfram wanted his Big Brother so badly. He didn't care if it made him seem like a child. To, at least, look down and see him one last time would have helped, he believed. But it was too dark for that.

"Wolfram!" Yuuri shouted, now on the balcony.

"That's our brother up there?"

Conrad's voice.

Wolfram closed his eyes briefly and tried to keep both older brothers in his heart. Then, a shadow from up above.

"Wolf!"

He reached out.

Snatched.

Grabbed him!

Desperately, Yuuri gripped onto Wolfram's left wrist, trying, at the same time, to ignore the groan of pain he heard. The blond was dangling precariously over the side of the balcony, legs swinging slightly. Yuuri's hold was hard, shaking.

Never before had a single life been so dependent upon him.

"Y-Yuuri?" Green eyes were large and wide, looking up at Yuuri as though seeking an answer.

"Hold on, Wolf!" Yuuri gritted out, determined to get the blond ex-prince back over the black iron railing. But telling him to "hold on" really was the best he could do for the moment. For, even with the leg wrapped as it was, Wolfram's right leg could only move so far. The limited range of motion made it impossible to get a toe hold onto the side of the building. And, even if, by some miracle, he could manage it, there would be no strength behind the actions—not enough to get up.

Either way, climbing up was impossible.

Conrad, Gwendal, and Yozak's voices shouted at them from down below. But, Yuuri could not focus on them.

Sweating. Slipping. Yuuri used his other hand to get a better grip on Wolfram's wrist as Gwendal shouted to his men to "Get the hell up there!" to rescue them both.

Yes, both. That's how Yuuri saw it.

The wind gusted and he glanced to the side when he saw a flash of green. The color…the texture. Something tugged at the back of his mind. It bothered him and The Maou spirit struggled from within with alarm.

_Green? I've seen it before… That same green. That same pattern…_

He could hear his panicked heartbeat—drumming far too fast in his chest. He had to think! Think! Think! Think…

_G-Green…? _

Black eyes blinked. "On The Maou! He was wearing it over his shoulders! This whole time, it was…the curtain!"

Gripping Wolfram's wrist even tighter than before, knuckles white, he released one hand only long enough to make a mad, frantic grab at Wolfram's sheer, green window curtain.

"Rip! Come down! Why won't you do it?"

Nothing. It held fast to the wall.

Again! He had to try again! To do his best!

Tightening his fist-full of the precious material, he tore the whole thing down –causing a deafening crash this time—and not caring in the slightest about the mess of bent copper rods and left over fabric shreds on the floor.

"The Maou wasn't wearing green because it was fashionable!" the double black gritted out, much to Wolfram's utter confusion. "He was trying to show me a way to save you if it all went to Hell in a hand basket!"

"Wha-? I don't under…" Wolfram groaned piteously as he dangled there, suspended by nothing more that Yuuri's hold on him. The pain was clouding his mind.

"Oi! Conrad!" Yuuri shouted down below. He knew he was there somewhere. "I'm going to throw something down but the rod is still attached. Catch!" And the double black flung the curtain panel over the side of the balcony, barely missing Wolfram as it went.

The green material fluttered like a flag and, in seconds, was covered by darkness. But Conrad was there. Instantly, knew what to do with it. With a guard pitching in, Gwendal and Yozak each took a corner, too. Then, Conrad stretched the material tightly with his end. They now had a safety net—of sorts.

"Done!" Conrad shouted up.

"They did it! That's great!" Yuuri huffed, still pulling up Wolfram to the best of his ability by one hand. He needed to get the blond over the railing. Then, he'd feel safe again. Then, everything would be fine. And he would find a way to make things better.

Except…

"No!" Wolfram shouted desperately, feeling them both dipping down over the side. This couldn't happen! "Stop, Yuuri! You can't do this! We'll _both_ fall!"

Yuuri could feel himself starting to slip over. His body was tiring and muscles were aching for rest. But, even with the others down below, somewhere in the darkness, he couldn't be sure that it was okay to let go. He couldn't be certain that Wolfram would be okay, even if they were in the right position with the safety net or not. And it was still possible to open the slash marks wider or reinjure the leg—making Wolfram's life unbearable.

And, if he was wrong—if the small piece of curtain fabric failed to hold up.

_I will have to bury Wolfram._

No, he couldn't think like that. And Wolfram must feel so scared right now. So alone. "If you fall," Yuuri promised, "I'll fall with you."

Yes, Wolfram had said that to him once. Said it and meant every word. He would do the same, swear in turn.

Wolfram simply gaped at the dim-witted idea, ignoring, for the moment, the fiery agony that he once called a "wrist." "No, you can't," he shook his head in frustration, "…don't quote me back on things like that! It was a long time ago!" They dipped further and he cringed openly. "Think about it! That flimsy curtain can't save us both, Yuuri!"

Yuuri gripped, with his free hand, onto the railing for stability—knuckles white.

The double black could feel his stomach cramping as his body began a slow decent—centimeter by centimeter—sliding over the metal railing. His waist and hips hurt. Nevertheless, he persisted, grateful that the ironwork was holding tightly to the castle. And, no matter what, he couldn't give in to the strain in his fingers and arms.

Wolfram was just too precious.

"Can't…let you go!"

He strained, head leaning back against his shoulders as he tried.

What kind of man would he be if he did that? If he let go? Their lives were connected. _They_ were connected, as they always were and always would be. The future. They would carve one out—one belonging only to them. And, whatever Wolfram wanted, he would have—not, as in childhood, where trinkets and flattering words replaced affection, but in support of it. True kindness. Yuuri would see to it.

More than a promise, an oath.

Using his grip on the railing, Yuuri pulled and managed to get his feet on the floor. Then, he raised his chin as he strained again, making another effort while Wolfram gasped in pain.

He glanced down. In Yuuri's imagination, Wolfram was a slashed and bloodied angel in white. That green-eyed angel needed rescuing.

As Wolfram's body swayed and dipped lower, suspended with nothing under his feet but a yawning darkness, he looked up into Yuuri's face and he suddenly realized what it was he had been searching for all this time.

His place in this world. He understood it now and knew it as well as he did his own name. It was strange, though, how long it took him to become conscious of it.

What it was.

Wolfram's place…

His purpose…

It was to love Yuuri. As simple as that. And it was so, so easy to do.

He loved that goofy smile and all of the adventures they had gone on together. He loved being by his side and laughing at the strange things Yuuri often did. Eating together. Bathing together. Arguing. Talking about everything and nothing.

Simply being together.

A place to belong…

_So warm…_

Wolfram's eyes rounded, softened. It was good and right. And, in the future, should Yuuri find someone who could truly make him happy, it would be a wonderful thing because Yuuri's happiness should come first.

_Should have always come first…_

Being loved in return no longer mattered.

And, in that moment, Wolfram knew that he loved Yuuri more than any dream of marriage and the selfish need of a family of his own. He loved Yuuri more than anything…

More than his own life.

Wistfully, Wolfram smiled up at Yuuri one last time, totally bewildering the double black, took his free hand and pried Yuuri's fingers from his wrist.

It was a good life while it lasted.

Truly good.

Blessed, even, because the pain was well worth every moment.

Beginnings and endings were born in pain. This was no different.

"Forgive me…please," he whispered. And Wolfram fell away into the darkness.

Alone.

"W-Wolf?"

The burdening weight on his hand was gone. It felt light now—as a feather.

Yuuri was panicking, grabbing—snatching—at empty space and struggling downwards to touch the blond who had faded from his sight. Nothing was there.

"_Wolf?"_ He called frantically, leaning over the balcony, head bowed.

Hard, wheezing breaths and sobs were coming from himself. Hot tears. And, yet, still he reached…knowing…

"_WOL-" _His voice broke._ "WOLFRAM!" _He cried out into the night. But no one answered.

And on Yuuri's desk, Wolfram's opened letter was toyed about by a gentle breeze from the open window with the inked words: "_Now that I think upon it… Maybe, letting you go—after all—wouldn't have been so heartbreaking. Not if it was for the greater good~"_

.

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* * *

つづく・・・


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

.

.

Several men had brought in torches and every candle around the drinks table blazed hot. Nobles, servants, and guards had gathered around the unexpectedly gruesome scene, but not for long. The majority of the on-lookers were directed back on Gwendal's orders. Chadwick's body remained twisted on the ground—still in the position it was when it fell. His aquamarine eyes were open and staring off into nothingness. His bloodied mouth was open slightly, too, as though about to say something. Wolfram's sword was still wedged firmly in the center of the chest, causing a dark stain across it. And, even now, guards were surrounding the body, staring down at it in shock.

Chadwick had been a trusted and valued member of Lord von Bielefeld's Elite Guard. How could this have happened?

One of the guards stepped back, his heel clunking against something made of metal. Now, Chadwick's sword was lying uselessly near a mud puddle.

There was sobbing among the crowd. Everyone had witnessed Wolfram's fall. Lady Cheri, who had no idea it was her son until Conrad shouted "That's our brother up there!" to Gwendal in total dismay, had stood firmly where she was but had dropped her drinking glass, shattering it to the ground, when Wolfram made his shadowy descent.

She screamed for her child, but no one could help her. And she cried for him, came running, when he landed firmly on the stretched piece of curtain Yuuri Heika had thrown down.

A thousand voices at once.

All shouting.

A jumble of directions, of words, of nothing…

It was all nothing without Wolfram.

The blond ex-prince had landed on the cloth but, stretched as it was, Gwendal had to hold on with one hand and grab Wolfram's limp, wet body with the other to steady him. Now, Wolfram was on his stomach and they were lowering him gently to the ground.

Face tearstained, Lady Cheri grabbed the closest guard by his collar and ordered in a grim and severe tone, "Bring Gissela here…NOW!"

Without question, the man did as he was told. He bolted.

Wolfram was alive but just barely. His white robe had one notable, gaping slash. Bloody rills coming from his body, running over his sides, and soaking through the green cloth which saved him.

"Oh, gods…I can see right into him," Yozak uttered under his breath, not realizing he'd said that out loud. He cringed as he had flashes—horrendous memories of the Battle of Lütenburg: sights, smells, mud, blood, moans. Not everyone on the battlefield died at once. Some lingered. But _now_ was not _then_. Some part of him knew that (even if he'd momentarily forgotten where he was). Never had he thought he'd see Wolfram die, to have his body opened and his fleshy innards exposed like a hacked corpse. He felt sick to his stomach at the smell of blood reeking from the lithe body before him. Yozak didn't even realize he was on his knees until he felt Conrad's arm around his shoulder.

"Still with us?" he whispered with his opposite hand clutching Wolfram's, a desperate attempt to keep both of the people who truly mattered anchored to this world.

Conrad got a firm nod from the spy but nothing more.

On the other side, Gwendal was applying battlefield first aid to Wolfram—a soft green glow coming from both hands. But, he knew that this was just a temporary measure. He wasn't a skilled healer. "When is Gissela going to get here?" he demanded vehemently but no one knew. She had not attended the party. But, that didn't mean that she was in her quarters or was in the infirmary. "Someone did send for her, right?"

Several people raised hands indicating that they did so.

"I did, too!" Lady Cheri said, tears falling onto her cheeks.

"Mother," Conrad said, trying to be supportive as she knelt down next to him, the space made for her when the guard holding the far corner of the green curtain had left. "We're doing all we can."

"Then, what, _THE HELL_…happened?" Gwendal demanded, his head turning up towards Wolfram's balcony. It was far easier to vent his pent up emotions through anger than any other way.

The lone figure still remained.

"Wolf?" Black eyes stared down futilely. Yuuri was still there, still gripping the railing, but dazed now. He could make out Wolfram's body as well as everyone down below. He felt that they were judging him, that he had not done enough to help Wolfram. Also, it was terrible that Chadwick had been stabbed and tumbled down to his death. Yuuri didn't want someone to die—not like this, not ever.

Yes, the man had injured Wolfram. But, Yuuri was sure that there had to have been another way. Even after attacking Wolfram, he was sure there was something else he could have done.

_Compassion? Thou hath sympathy for the rabid cur who dared harm my bright one?_ the voice in his head asked. It was angry and spoke without words. But the meaning was there and Yuuri understood it.

The Maou didn't waste the energy of a dream-vision here. Or, maybe, it was simply too dangerous on the balcony. Enough people were harmed tonight.

_Long have I waited, Yuuri Heika! Thou may be monarch of the land, but I grow weary of thy failures!_

Yuuri stood there, sobbing—wiping tears from his face. "S-Sorry…" What else could he say?

_Apologies mend not!_ The Maou scolded him from within. _And, this night, I shall take what was once thine!_

Black eyes widened. "What do you…?" and his body shifted. His eyebrows arched up at angles. His hair grew longer and wilder as his shoulders widened. In the span of seconds, he grew taller. The Maou's angled face smiled grimly at those below—at the astonishment on their faces as they watched the transformation taking place before them.

Brilliant blue energy surrounded The Maou, spreading a fine mist around him. He placed one foot on the black iron railing and, with a devilish grin, he nimbly leapt over.

"Look!" a noble called to his peers, "The Maou comes!"

"The Maou!"

"The Maou!"

Lady Cheri stood up, her face cold and wet from crying. "The Maou!" she breathed with hope growing within her. What he had done once, he simply had to do again.

He had to. Or, she would beg of it—not caring who watched her. Humbling herself would be such a small price to pay.

Seeing The Maou coming, Gwendal fought the urge to flinch again.

Yes, the bleeding soul lying before him was his baby brother, and they had already owed one debt of gratitude to The Maou for healing him. But… Then, Gwendal mentally kicked himself for thinking that way. This was Wolfram! His Wolfram! Gwendal knew that he had minutes…maybe seconds…to save him. If swallowing his pride would do it, then, he would. Wolfram mattered too much to him—to his whole family. And, he knew, in some strange and almost indefinable way, his baby brother mattered to Yuuri as well.

For, he was here in his strongest form. It was proof.

"We meet again," The Maou greeted as Gwendal humbly stepped away to give more room.

Gwendal gave a bow of acknowledgement which went unnoticed by just about everyone—not that he cared in the slightest.

The Maou easily fell to his knees beside Wolfram. He took what was left of the blood-stained material covering the blond's body and simply pulled. With the sound of material ripping, the robe fell apart—exposing Wolfram's naked body. But he was so covered in his own blood that it seemed he was still wearing clothes after all, a body suit of deepest crimson. Concentrating on the heavy wound, The Maou ran his hands over it. At first, it seemed as though nothing was going on and The Maou's efforts, this time, were useless. While the bleeding had stopped, the wound remained torn and exposed. The vile, light pink flesh was still there covered in blood. Then, The Maou smiled with satisfaction and began sweeping his open palms across the sword wound—forward and back again. Little by little, layer by layer, skin seemed to weave itself back into place.

With each breath, though, Wolfram began to groan piteously. It seemed almost cruel to continue, but The Maou did.

Yozak leaned into Conrad—trying to give him strength.

The crowd parted and Gissela, with tea and cake crumbs still down the front of her blouse, came rushing forward. "I've sent for my box…!" Then, she stumbled to a halt and smiled. "…But I see the situation is well in hand."

It was true. There was no better healer than The Maou.

"Where were you?" Gwendal barked. Having a world-class healer in the castle was no good if you didn't know where she was.

"Kitchen… Sorry…" She put a hand behind her head, feeling bad.

The Maou continued to heal Wolfram, moving the green energy with great skill. "Tis not her doing," The Maou defended, knowing only too well that Gwendal was upset and venting. "Blame the dead cur which lies yonder," he motioned to Chadwick with his head, "and the other assassin still within the room above."

"Chadwick was working with Alec?" Yozak said in disbelief.

Gwendal openly scowled. So, it was Wolfram that Alec was after, not Yuuri Heika. How Chadwick factored into things, he didn't know but would be briefed on later, to be sure. "Yozak, go to Wolfram's room with some of my men and check it out!"

The spy pointed to three of Gwendal's soldiers standing near him. "You, you, and you. This way!" Following Yozak, they made a break for the castle.

Still having Wolfram's cold hand sandwiched between both of his, Conrad watched in wonder as The Maou completed the healing. Then, slitted eyes lifted up to him with the order, "Thy flask."

"Flask?" Did The Maou mean whiskey? No, Yozak carried that. What he carried was…_water_! "Oh, yes!" He reached into his inside coat pocket and brought out the flask of water that he used to dilute Yuuri's alcoholic drinks. The Maou held the silver flask and spoke solemn words under his breath, causing the silver to flicker brightly like a star. Then, he poured the water onto Wolfram's back and ran his palm over it. In one sweep, all of the ruby fluid was gone. The skin was completely healed—almost as perfect as it was before—a thin, white line striking at an angle was there, but nothing more.

The Maou had done a perfect job start to finish.

"You found a way to fade scars with holy water," Gissela exclaimed, thoroughly impressed. She definitely wanted to improve upon that skill.

"A sage suggested…" The Maou returned, eyes glancing in the direction of Shinou's Temple.

Wolfram's other injuries were mended with a single, gentle stroke of the hand. Only the thick scar behind the right knee remained.

"What about…?" Gissela asked, pointing to it.

The spirit gave a single "no" and continued on. Time made some things impossible.

"Turn him," The Maou ordered and Gwendal nodded grimly. He gestured to Conrad for help. But, first, he removed his green military coat and, after repositioning Wolfram onto his back, spread it across his hips where only one minor cut was.

The Maou, approving of the preservation of Wolfram's dignity, gave a thin smile. And Gwendal, in spite of all of his emotional upset from the events of the night, managed to feel a little lighter in his soul.

"Brave he was," the spirit declared for the nobles to overhear. "Brave…and good...honorable to thy king and country…even to the point of sacrifice."

The gathered group quickly murmured agreement.

Once again, Gwendal was satisfied. That would stop the rumors regarding Wolfram's role as "victim." Though, he knew well, it would birth many more along _very_ _different_ lines. They could deal with that later.

The pale cheek no longer cried blood. Wolfram's chest was healed of fresh wounds, leaving only the scar that Jaeger Barth had given him. The firm, flat stomach was healed, too, but those wounds were light to begin with.

Finally, The Maou asked for Wolfram's hands. They were bruised, slashed, and sore. But, just from kissing the palms—which made Gwendal look away in embarrassment—the hands seemingly healed themselves.

Green eyes opened wearily as The Maou positioned Gwendal's coat higher up on his body, trying to warm him.

"_Yuuri_." Wolfram said the name as a whisper. He was glad to see him. Somehow, he knew that Yuuri would be here, though not necessarily in his "maou" form. The ex-prince reached for the hand, trying to grasp it with gratitude and friendship.

"Not yet," The Maou instructed as he placed one hand on Wolfram's heart and one on his temple. "Thy magic is little more than a glimmer."

"I know…" Wolfram grimaced a nod. "To fight Chadwick…he's mad…caused all of this to happen and, then, tried to…"

A finger pressed against Wolfram's lips, stopping him. "Words later."

Wolfram closed his eyes and felt the warm hand return to his bare chest. A different energy, a golden glow, filled his body. It fed the heat inside of him, a flickering flame dancing within the recesses of his soul. He could sense his element growing brighter—to the way it was before defending himself against Chadwick.

"A little magic…but thou shalt fan flames on thy own."

Wolfram understood. It was healthier for a fire Mazoku to re-bond and re-grow magic from within. To be flooded with fresh magic, as from a healer, had certain unpleasant side effects such as stagnation of growth of the element. He hated to think of being stuck at a plateau for the rest of his life when he had been so powerful before.

And he had been so slow to recover. Frustratingly so. But the fatigue which had come with his recovery had been the worst.

"Better, Wolfie?" Lady Cheri asked tenderly, kneeling next to her son and wiping the damp blond hair from his eyes.

"Yes, Mother," Wolfram replied feebly, shifting slightly on the curtain beneath him, becoming more and more aware of his surroundings.

Yes, aware…of everything…

Then, it became abundantly clear. He realized exactly where he was…and his _nakedness_! Green eyes darted around, eyebrows lifted.

Now, he was awake—very, very awake!

From instinct, he tried to scramble back and then stopped himself.

But it was more than just having his shirt off—which was enough exposure! Wolfram glanced down at himself, bare-chested, and the feel of the curtain against his ass was unmistakable. He more than blushed. He wanted to writhe in embarrassment. Wolfram had gone from one nightmare to another—only, this one had everyone who knew him gawking at his bare flesh.

Wolfram gripped the green dress coat with his fingers, stared at it, and then blanched.

_Gwendal's coat! …And…people!_

The crowd—servants, nobles (and not all were friendly towards him), and not to mention the soldiers. Relieved for his sake or not, they were gawking! At him! The blond Mazoku squared his jaw. He'd had enough of this. "I'm leaving," he informed the group closest to him in an indignant tone. And there was no way he wasn't going into the castle on his own power, either. Bad leg or not, he'd find a way…somehow.

Pride called for it. If not, he'd never live it down in this lifetime.

"We shall make it so," The Maou promised with a sexy grin, offering a hand and helping Wolfram up. He readjusted the dress military coat over the blond. Still, it hung on him like a dark green tent and he swayed a little in place. But the determined look was there nonetheless. The spirit smiled in a bemused way as he nimbly buttoned the coat with a solitary thread of blue energy. And, then, with a single sweep, he had Wolfram securely in his arms.

The blond's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe it. Yuuri was holding him.

"Y-Yuuri…"

The Maou came to Wolfram's ear and whispered a single word—"mine."

With that, Wolfram wrapped his arms around The Maou's neck, buried his face, and closed his eyes to shut everything else out. This was so embarrassing! But, it was clear that he could give no objections to this while The Maou spirit gazed upon him in such a way—as though he were toothsome, desirable…

The Maou turned to Lady Cheri and gave a very slight, formal bow to her as the mother of Wolfram. "This bright one shall be bathed and clothed…shall sleep in The Maou's bedroom this night."

The crowd, overhearing, made commentary. Some "ooh-ed" in admiration for their king while others grumbled their disapproval openly. Neither opinion mattered, though. Snakelike eyes flashing in their direction made them clamp their mouths shut. If he had wanted their opinions, he would have asked for them. Then again, it was enough that he had advisers he didn't use.

"Of course!" Lady Cheri enthused, hands clasped before her ample breasts. "I believe in free love and I know you will take good care of my Wolfie!" The polite bow was returned but was much lower and showing her full cleavage.

"Mother!" Gwendal growled, knowing that this would only feed into Wolfram's fantasies again. But, seeing the two of them together—Wolfram in his own dress military jacket no less!—there was nothing that he could do. And he knew it only too well.

"Bright one," the Maou said, addressing Wolfram directly, "a bath is called for. Thy body carries the stench of thy blood. Such vile perfume is a sin on thy skin." And, with that, he turned slowly and the two of them made their way indoors.

Servants and guards parted for them, letting them make way. The nobles watched passively from where they stood. But this would be food for gossip tomorrow—no doubt about it.

"Bright one," the spirit began, "tis clear thou wouldst prefer to enter the castle on thy own…but, on this night, allow this privilege to me."

Wolfram simply hummed an agreement. He was too tired of this night, and the people in it, to argue the point for the sake of his ego.

Wolfram's bare feet swayed a little as they went and he rested his head against The Maou, closing his eyes briefly and wondering what had gotten into Yuuri. In the past, even in "maou" form, Yuuri kept a polite distance. Yes, he'd rattle off some kind of "truth" or proclamation about becoming better friends or seeing "justice" done through to the end. But it was all very much like "Yuuri"—a kind of "holding back" of something emotional or intimate. And Wolfram had, on some level, just assumed that Yuuri left the deep, passionate emotions to him.

Now, however, it was different. The Maou was unlike before. And there was something desirable—almost within reach—about Yuuri.

It was more than his warmth and the scent of his skin. More than the soft buzz of the blue magic which sheathed them both. There was a certain something—which had become real, almost tangible.

To test his theory, Wolfram held The Maou a little bit tighter and felt almost a contented purr coming from him. Green eyes widened for a moment. _Could it be?_ Then, reality struck. He must be misinterpreting. Wolfram sighed. He was hoping for the impossible again, asking for the unreasonable. Right? How many times would he go through this with himself before he finally accepted the truth?

_But what had caused the change?_

Maybe, healing him had done it. And, if so, things would easily go back to normal in a few days. It had the last time The Maou had worked his healing magic.

Wolfram could wait for that. That's all it would take. Just do that, recover, and keep the same plans that he had before.

Moving away would do both of them some good.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Put it all in the past.

* * *

The splashing of water in The Royal Baths caught Wolfram's ears and he looked up in time to see the heavy wooden door opening from the inside! Wolfram blinked at a single, slender water dragon standing by the doorway—body looped into the door handle and pulling back to allow them to walk through.

"Amazing," he breathed.

The blue water dragon wiggled his whiskers appreciatively.

The Maou shook his head and gently placed Wolfram down next to a wooden stool. "Thou art…_amazing_." The voice was like rich chocolate and Wolfram found himself with, unexpectedly, butterflies in his stomach. How many years had it been since he felt that? He looked away in embarrassment.

"I'm not really."

The Maou didn't seem to heed his words as he nimbly unbuttoned the military jacket, leaving the blond naked before him. Then, offering a hand, he gave the blond a wooden stool to sit upon—helping him assistance to sit.

And, again, Wolfram sensed that certain _something_.

It wasn't as though Yuuri and Wolfram had never bathed alone together. They had done so numerous times. But this seemed different and Wolfram squared his shoulders as he took a seat. He usually blustered and complained loudly when he felt emotionally off balance. But, right now didn't seem the time for that. The only thing he could hope for in this steamy bath was for the temperature to hide his rosy cheeks.

Wolfram glanced at The Maou. A dramatic voice and archaic words. Old fashioned but, in a way, not. _Pleasing to look at…oh yes,_ Wolfram admitted to himself. He was still _so handsome_ with wild, black hair and strong, beautifully slanted eyes.

Wolfram had always liked those eyes—whether in Yuuri's typical form or not.

But there was something wild about The Maou, too. There was something primal and untamed balanced by knowledge that, Wolfram guessed, had to have been learned through all of the previous maous of Shin Makoku.

_Handsome,_ Wolfram went back to thinking, _because he…simply is…_

The Maou noticed the admiration. He took on his sexy smile again and walked to the wall, folding his arms against his chest as he leaned back. A coy look greeted Wolfram the next time he chanced to glance his way. Then, The Maou pointed a finger towards the gigantic tub which could have easily been mistaken for a small pool. Two thin water dragons emerged and, before Wolfram could ask a single question about them, one had wrapped itself around Wolfram's shoulders to keep him warm while the other delved into his hair—cleaning thoroughly as it went.

"Ohhh… _Nice_," Wolfram sighed, face becoming sleepy and catlike with satisfaction. He leaned a little without even realizing it but the dragons kept him balanced.

"You're welcome."

Still sitting on the stool, Wolfram hummed this time as the dragon slipped from his hair and began cleaning his upper back. Meanwhile, the blond's hair was absolutely dry. It took him a second to realize it was so. Then, he looked down as the "cleaning" dragon left him for, of all places, the lav.

"What's…?" He thumbed at the creature as its tail disappeared through the open door. (Maybe, he really had to go.)

"Filthy water…"

In the next moment, the perky water dragon was back to clean Wolfram's back—soothing, warm, and wet. And, when the dragon left his back, Wolfram was, once again, quite dry.

"Whoa!" the blond complained this time as the creature snaked under his armpit and moved on to the upper chest. Now, Wolfram was "face to whickers" and the little dragon gave a warbled laugh as it went about doing its job. Blood, sweat, and grime were whisked away, making little bobbing speckles and tainted water float within the creature.

Once again, the creature disappeared for the lav and, just as speedily, returned.

The blond brushed his hair from his eyes. "There, for a minute, he got a little personal with my underarm," Wolfram complained lightly, but it was a mock complaint about the water dragon and The Maou could see it easily. It was a good sign. It meant that Wolfram was feeling better. And, best of all, he was becoming more comfortable in his care.

"If thou shouldst deem so, then…"

A truly evil smile came over The Maou and the little water dragon laughed with glee as it jumped Wolfram's left shoulder, slithered down his back, and squelched under his derriere!

"Oi!" Wolfram shot out, knees together after the water dragon had sprayed a cute little rainbow between them. He had a deep scowl on his face. "That was uncalled for!"

He blushed in more than once place.

The Maou laughed where he stood. "Was that not a challenge?"

"It was not!" Wolfram said hotly.

He wanted to storm out. He really did.

The spirit approached Wolfram, still laughing under his breath, and knelt down gallantly on the floor next to him—making his knee wet in doing so, which Wolfram was about to point out before he felt hands holding his own tenderly, The Maou's breath in his ear. "Apologies, bright one." The voice still had mirth in it. "But one should be clean in all places…yes?"

_What? He's teasing me!_ Wolfram shot the tile floor a hard look even though it was The Maou that he wanted to do that to. "I can take care of myself."

"Come again?" He tilted the blond's chin up with a finger.

_What? You want me to look at you while I say it? Fine_, was followed by a mental growl at the spirit. "I said…" He looked into that attractive, black-framed face. "I can take care of myself." And, eyeing him for as long as he dared, Wolfram added, "And, in future, I don't want a dragon down here." He tilted his head back down towards his lap even though it was a little further south where the dragon had caused the offence.

Still amused, The Maou helped Wolfram up to his feet, wrapped his arms around him, and whispered in a low voice, "Change your mind...I could…"

_Wha-?_ The blond felt his heartbeat pickup. Yes, it was happening again! Wolfram bit his lip and tried to ignore the fact that he was still nude while The Maou was clothed. Bare skin hard-pressed against soft fabric. The warmth of being held with large, wide hands against his back. Fingers pressing into his flesh…

It was starting to feel good—_too good_.

The water dragon on Wolfram's shoulders suddenly popped in between them—whiskers sticking out like an intrusive cat.

Ashamed with himself for letting his emotions override good reason, Wolfram stuck out his lower lip, pouting. "Maybe, I could tell you what to do with this dragon, then."

A short but sensuous laugh, so very close to him.

"Loves you, he does."

Once again, Wolfram could feel his heart beat harder. Instead of giving into the feeling, he raised a blond eyebrow. "I suspect that he's not the only one." Yes, Wolfram knew that he was fishing, but he needed to know and The Maou seemed to be of the old school—"feelings hidden within clever words." It was strange, though, because Yuuri, in his regular form, could never master the art no matter how many times Günter tried to tutor him.

The archaic word "mayhap" was hummed into Wolfram's ear as The Maou reached out a hand and a water dragon tossed a towel to him by batting it with his tail. With care, The Maou wrapped Wolfram's hips in the white cloth. And, then, while straightening up, his dark eyes settled on Wolfram's lips: Desiring, nearing, lips parting in return.

He moved in… and, then, away.

No kiss.

Nothing.

But Wolfram felt himself breathing as though he had just been kissed. Passionately.

Something between them.

Once more.

He put a hand to his head. _What's going on?_ he wondered. The blond Mazoku, his mind still blank, was trying to piece it all together as The Maou took his hand. "And, now…thy bed…"

That snapped his attention back.

Green eyes widened. "B-Bed? You sure about that?"

A serious nod.

Wolfram swallowed thickly. He wasn't sure if he was going to make it through this night or not.

.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

.

.

Whump.

"Wha-?" Wolfram suddenly found himself turning toward the sound of the heavy wooden doors shutting firmly.

The Maou simply stood there in The Royal Bedroom, smirking at him without apologies —making Wolfram blush slightly and, then, he turned back for obvious reasons, drawing his robe more tightly against himself. This robe had been ordered by The Maou just before they'd stepped out of the steamy baths. And the unlucky maid who had been chosen by happenstance as she passed through the hallway to perform this task quickly found something suitable for Wolfram to wear and returned, humbly offering it up with both hands.

Another peek.

Playfully, the spirit cocked his dark head to the side at the blond ex-prince.

Wolfram paled at that.

This was a whole new situation. Sure, he'd been alone with Yuuri before, snuck into his bed—into his life—countless times. But, Yuuri had always been the inhibited one. Always, on some basic level. But, now, Wolfram could understand what Yuuri had felt all those times.

It wasn't that he was afraid of The Maou…_exactly_. It was just that he felt in awe of him most of the time and he had great admiration for the things that he'd done. For bringing justice to those in dire need…but…

Wolf glanced at The Maou and back again.

But, it seemed that all of his attention was now focused on him and…

The ex-prince could tell by the shadow on the floor that The Maou was approaching and, to be honest with himself, Wolfram felt those butterflies coming back.

"Heavy green eyes…so tired," The Maou murmured, stopping briefly by Wolfram's side and cupping his cheek, forcing the blond's head up to look at him.

Wolfram shrugged noncommittally. "Yes, I suppose so."

"Then, find a gown…or sleep as you are."

The hand left his cheek but the warmth lingered for a moment. Absently, Wolfram touched his own face before returning to his senses. "Like this?" he fingered the thin gown.

"As I have said."

Now, that seemed to be an order.

Wolfram felt like grumbling. The Maou had carried him, bridal style, from the baths to the bedroom with random witnesses stumbling upon them. (And, worse yet, two guards had given each other the thumbs up, which made him cringe at the memory.) However, with his right leg unbound, it was weak at best. Just making it to the closet would be a daunting task if he wanted to keep from limping pathetically. But, then, stubbornness set in. Wolfram von Bielefeld would not shy away from something difficult or painful. This was Yuuri in his maou form. Wolfram decided he could be slightly "less than perfect" in front of him.

Especially if he bluffed and grumbled.

"I think I have something still here…" Wolfram said with arms folded against his chest and nose in the air. "If not, I'll take something of yours to sleep in, Yuuri."

"By all means," the spirit said, making a grand bow for him to proceed.

Wolfram whipped off the belt to his robe, bent down, and wrapped his leg in the material tightly, giving some measure of support. Then, head held high, he limped over to the half-empty closet.

Yes, most of his things were gone—on his orders. But, that was the way it should be. But, maybe, the maid had missed something. He looked again. In the very back, there was a gown that he'd worn long ago. It wasn't the frilly nightie he was famous for wearing. It was just an ordinary apricot colored night shirt for the summer. But the silky, button down the front thing would do in a pinch. And it wasn't all that uncomfortable to begin with.

Turning away from The Maou, Wolfram began to shed his long-sleeved robe. He wondered if he was being watched but didn't dare look this time. Then, dropping the robe, Wolfram slipped the night shirt over his head. Arm in. Arm in. The sheer material fell down to his mid thighs.

His thongs? No, they had all been packed away. Wolfram knew that much. He would just have to do without for one single night. But, that shouldn't be such a big deal, right?

The blond tried to pull the material down a little.

Well, maybe it was…and maybe it wasn't.

_Why is this bothering me? I used to sleep in the nude before Yuuri came._

The spirit went to the bed—to Wolfram's side—and pulled back the bed linens. "Here's thy place."

"I thought it was…once," Wolfram said as he came forward slowly, limping heavily. "But, Yuuri…" He looked up with somber, green eyes. "It's over. I ended the engagement between us and, tomorrow, Gwendal and Mother will get their letters…explaining what, I think, they've seen coming for years." Wolfram placed a hand on The Maou's arm and tried to be reassuring. Surely, that would please Yuuri even though he needed reminding of their situation together.

This night's events had changed nothing between them.

"Forgive me, but…there's no hope. I mean…You are Yuuri…and I'm me…" he went on lamely when The Maou said nothing but stared at him with intense, black slitted eyes.

Wolfram eased himself down onto the edge of the bed, chin tilted up. "But I will always be there for you," he promised sincerely. "Call for me and, wherever I am, I will come to you…support you…even with this feeble body of mine."

The Maou tilted his head to the side, studying him. "Abandon me, wouldst thou?"

"What? No! That's not it!" The blond clinched his fists, leaning forward. How could he say that? "Never! I would never abandon you." With his eyes, he followed The Maou as he circled around the bed, removed his shirt and shoes, and got in. "Please, Yuuri! Don't think that way."

"How could I not?" The voice was dark and rich with resentment shadowing it.

"_Yuuri_," he groaned the name, hands covering his face now. Why did they have to go over this? "I can't give you the life you want…the one you deserve. You don't want me by your side…deep down. It may hurt a little now, but in time…"

Wolfram felt his hands being taken away from his face and lowered into his lap. In the next moment, he was staring up into The Maou's handsome face. It was mortifying to have his king see him like that—eyes shining with tears, face pink. But, he pushed through and told him, "Holding onto me out of a sense of guilt will never bring you happiness. Don't do that to yourself, Yuuri."

Wolfram was folded into strong, warm arms. And, easily, his body found its way into The Maou's lap. Even without his magic, the spirit was incredibly strong in Yuuri's body.

Wolfram couldn't help himself. He held on and cursed his weakness. How many times in the night did he want this? Just this simple thing—to have someone hold him.

"And…should I not be thy 'Yuuri'? What wouldst thou say?"

Wolfram blinked curiously and found tears splashing down onto his face. Thoughtlessly, he brushed them aside, still too focused on The Maou's words. "How can you not be Yuuri? You're just another side to him…a very powerful side. But, you're him…you seek justice and you do good things, so…"

With a sympathetic look, The spirit raised a hand and brushed Wolfram's wet face. From the expression, it was clear to him that The Maou hated to see him cry for any reason. And it was a strange sort of comfort. For, in all of the years they'd been together, rarely did he let Yuuri see him cry.

It was a weakness when the _heart_ ruled the _will_.

And no good ever came from it.

The Maou took Wolfram and repositioned his body so that he could rest his cheek on the crown of Wolfram's head. The two of them rocked a little as the spirit considered the best way of explaining it to him. And it would not be easy.

"I am my other self…and, yet, I am not…"

"Sorry?" Wolfram leaned away from the warm, bare chest to look into the handsomely angled face next to him. "I don't get your meaning."

"I am he…and I am not…" This time, The Maou took a strand of his own hair and twisted it around his finger. A smile came to his lips. "For, when came the time, rejected was I by him."

The room grew quiet as the words sunk in.

"Wait… Are you saying that when you needed to bond with Yuuri, he didn't want you?"

A nod. "Unkindly put…but nonetheless…"

Green eyes widened a little bit. "So, you're both in here," he gripped The Maou's shoulders lightly, "as two souls in the same body."

"True."

"Rejected," Wolfram said with a sadness mixed with disbelief. He laughed bitterly before he could even stop himself. "Who wouldn't want you? It's impossible to believe."

The Maou took Wolfram back into his arms and held him. "I have said the same of you often enough."

"I don't matter in the scheme of things…but you!" he argued back. Then, Wolfram narrowed his eyes in thought, brows pushed together. "Millions of Mazoku have wanted this honor…to be with you…to be part of you…" Wolfram sighed with frustration at the stupidity. "It was to be the greatest blessing in his life and Yuuri, wimpy Yuuri, decided to discard it."

But then, Wolfram lowered his head as he realized what else The Maou was telling him. This wasn't Yuuri who had been flirting with him tonight, healing him. It was The Maou spirit.

_Of course, it wouldn't be Yuuri,_ he thought resentfully. _But it would explain a lot._

"All of Shin Makoku's maous have welcomed me…desired me…except Yuuri Heika, who fears me." A deep, low chuckle followed as he thought of the past. "Especially on the day we dueled, my bright one, there was fear…"

Wolfram rubbed his dewy eye but managed a smile at the memory. "Well, you had to do your best against me. If you had not, I would have been dishonored in front of everyone. Yuuri could never understand what honor means to me. He just thinks he can make some new 'rule' and we'll all forget the past and do everything his way."

The comforting arms tightened. "So he does…naïve but kind, lost in this world but curious…"

Wolfram shook his head. What a fool.

"Yuuri will never truly belong here…like a native, but I believe that he will be a good king for centuries to come." This time, the blond rested his head on The Maou's shoulder. It seemed the thing that the spirit wanted as they were sitting together in bed and, after doing so, Wolfram could feel a sense of peace come over him. "And, now, for some strange reason…" He didn't glance at The Maou this time. He couldn't. But, still, he said the words, "You want me."

"Ah."

Wolfram frowned. " 'Ah'… All I get is an 'ah' from that?"

_Was I wrong?_

The world spun for a second. The blond felt his body lightly pushed back—head on a silk pillow now and his lower half was still in The Maou's lap. It was more than awkward. There was something slightly _WRONG_ about it considering he had no underpants on and he gritted his teeth as The Maou chuckled at him.

Wolfram decided that he may be a free man now, but he wasn't _easy_ and he wasn't just ripe for the taking no matter who the person was.

Besides, he wasn't a Mazoku in his late 70's anymore and he could act with more decorum and…well…

Even if The Maou was looking at him like he was the most delicious thing he'd ever seen…

_But, no!_

"Truth, my bright one?" the spirit asked after he'd managed to stop the chuckling and held it all back with a smile.

Wolfram nodded firmly with shoulders squared—or as squared as they could be while in the position he was still in. "Yes, I'd like to hear it. Why am I suddenly so appealing to you?" He pulled the hem of his gown down again.

_I'm flustered! Why am I? I was never like this before_ he thought, now totally pissed at himself.

The Maou smiled and took one of Wolfram's hands, holding it gently. He leaned forward, slid next to him on the bed, and pressed himself close. Wolfram could feel his heartbeat pick up again but did his best to hold back. This was a story he wanted to hear and something he needed to know.

Hormones be damned…_maybe_.

"In a dream-vision…"

"Eh?" Wolfram suddenly pushed himself up on his elbows. "A dream-vision? Whoa!" Now, the blond was incredibly impressed in an almost a childlike way and The Maou, seeing it, pretended to be modest. "Dream visions require a lot of energy and preparation. Just to have one in a lifetime is a miracle!" He leaned closer to the spirit, green eyes rounded and very wide. "You can really do that, huh?"

"In a dream-vision," The Maou went on, "Yuuri Heika pleaded for aid…if not for self, then for thou…" He caressed Wolfram's cheek with his thumb and, this time, the blond visibly blushed. "To aid my bright one, no longer could I observe…to rescue in troubled times only…" He ran a thumb across Wolfram's slightly parted lips. "Needs call for stepping into this world…to become part of it."

Wolfram held The Maou's wrist, tugging the hand away so that he could speak. "What you mean is that you couldn't just come out of Yuuri when things got bad. You had to be more active…to be part of things…"

Thin, pale fingers glided against The Maou's skin. Holding his hand Wolfram said, "But that means that you and Yuuri will share the same body…but, then what? If you never combined…became one…and, now, you want me…but Yuuri doesn't…? And, then…"

Wolfram didn't even want to finish that jumbled thought.

A frown appeared between the spirit's eyes, looking down now. "Bright one, as much as it pains this soul to confess…Yuuri Heika's feelings have grown and are most earnest." The frown deepened when he finished with, "Thou art loved by him truly."

_Loved?_

_Is he serious?_

_Does Yuuri even understand the meaning of the word?_

Now, something pained was in Wolfram's expression. There was no convincing him of something he knew only too well. Yuuri would never love him the way he wanted him to. "Don't bother…please…. It's not 'love.' It's 'like." And I don't need the kind of 'like' that he's willing to offer only to see him six months from now…or maybe years…falling in love with someone else. It's easier to just let him go first, walk away, and wish him luck when that special person appears in his life." Wolfram nodded to himself as he spoke. This was the right thing to do. "I love him enough to leave my home and everyone in it…" He looked around the room, trying to etch it in his heart. "I want to go with good memories of this place… even though I'll be replaced by someone…and that someone will be here by Yuuri's side."

Wolfram removed the belt binding his leg. "I hope that I become an old story that people tell... I just want to fade away."

The Maou gave a small smile to that as he tucked Wolfram in bed and then lay himself down next to the blond. "Now, do I see," The Maou murmured. "Yuuri Heika's heart had grown…but not enough…not nearly enough to have won thy trust."

Wolfram pulled the blankets over his shoulder as he settled in. His heart hurt but he covered up as best he could. "What I 'trust' is that he will be relieved once all of the arrangements have been made." Then, he rolled over onto his back and stared into The Maou's angled face one last time. "But…you're really not Yuuri, are you? You're really not him, right? A stronger side to him?"

The Maou shook his head. "Never was I… since I was rejected."

Wolfram smirked bitterly. "I know what that feels like."

And he did. Sad as it was to admit to himself. He knew all too well.

The Maou's warm hand returned to his cheek, turning his face more in his direction. "Bright one?"

Green eyes blinked up curiously.

"Possible is it to accept this heart?" The spirit took Wolfram's hand, held it, and placed it against his bare chest. "Accept someone such as I?" A crooked smile followed. "My host's form have I taken…which is all allowed unto me. Is it not pleasing or is it too familiar…bringing pain?"

Wolfram felt his breath taken away. "Are you serious? You want me to love you?"

"Assuredly."

The blond withdrew a little, feeling suspicious. "But, think about it… Do you want me for me…or because Yuuri asked you to help me? My guess would be the latter. It seems that way."

At that moment, Wolfram felt his body slide against the silk sheets at an angle and The Maou spooned up against him. "Wolfram is most desired…most beloved…"

"Eh?" The blond gaped at him.

_Wait! Wait! This is going too fast!_

The ex-prince could feel his whole body tense up with the sudden warmth against him from the presence of the other body. And, what was he going to do now that a large but gentle hand was caressing his shoulder and upper arm?

Wolfram felt his heart beating hard and the attention was so unexpected. But also, within himself, he felt torn. There was still a part of him that wanted Yuuri—goofy, clumsy, desperately in need of a clue, Yuuri. And he had seen Yuuri and The Maou as a single person for years. Now, he knew that they weren't. They had never been. And what that really meant, the blond couldn't hazard a guess.

"I feel…" he began weakly. It had been so long since someone had confessed to him—years, in fact.

"I shall wait for thy answer."

"Wha-?" Wolfram turned, looking over his shoulder with surprise. "You…_will_?"

The sheets shimmered as the body behind him moved to get more comfortable. The man next to him propped himself up on his elbow casually. A deep hum next to Wolfram's right ear. "How long hast thou waited to be loved in return?"

Green eyes grew hard. "Doesn't matter."

Hands gripping, moving, sliding.

Wolfram was on top with The Maou beneath, black hair splayed against the pillow. A warm embrace and a nuzzling feeling against his cheek. "Me thinks it does…" he whispered.

"Why me?" Wolfram asked in a gruff tone, totally unsure of what to do.

"Why not thou?"

* * *

The next morning, Günter did not stop by The Royal Bedroom as regularly scheduled. In fact, none of Yuuri's usual visitors made an appearance. The only exception was a maid who was ordered by Gissela to bring breakfast for two along with a note for Wolfram to stop by the infirmary for a complete medical check-up.

The plates of scrambled eggs, sausage, bread, and fruit juice were placed on Wolfram's nightstand. Then, with a quick glance at the bed with the curtains fully drawn, the maid left—the guards closing the door after her.

Wolfram woke up first, sniffing the air. Something smelled good.

Drawing back the silk curtain closest to him, he stifled a yawn. For a moment, he wondered why the curtains had been closed. Then, he vaguely recalled that The Maou had done it—wanting privacy for them in case any of the house staff had decided to peek in. Wolfram had pointed out the fact Yuuri hated the curtains drawn for the exact same reason. He wanted anyone watching to see that their relationship was perfectly innocent. Then, The Maou reminded him that the relationship he wanted would be neither "perfect" nor "innocent" and to think well upon it before agreeing to them being together. And, even if the answer was a solid "maybe," he, as maou, would be willing to wait.

_What have I gotten myself into?_ he thought, a hand to his head. _And, what of The Maou?_

Now, in the cold light of day, Wolfram wondered if The Maou would be like Yuuri—changing his mood once he could go back to his routine. And, of himself, he asked the question, "Can I accept The Maou's heart…instead of Yuuri's? And, if I did, would my motives really be so blameless?"

Wolfram thought back to his "courting days" before Yuuri came. He had many admirers and some that he allowed to be more than that. Never would he stay with one person for long. He wanted to taste life and enjoy the "newness" that a budding relationship would give. His mother called it "puppy love" but he didn't mind it. This was fun and the sudden attraction felt good not to mention the complements, the dances, the stolen kisses, and the cheek-slaps that he gleefully avoided on a daily basis.

But to do that again. _To be_ that again. Did he even want to?

Wolfram wondered if he was just doing as before—moving on to someone new once the "chase" was over with. Yuuri, definitely, didn't want him. Thus, as his old rules went, it would be time to find someone new to replace him.

_To replace_, Wolfram sighed from within. Then, he considered the possibility of being on his own for awhile.

"But, The Maou," Wolfram whispered to himself. Now, he was both a dominant personality and persistent. There was some excitement about it, too, since Wolfram didn't mind playing either role—the dominant or the submissive—when it came to romance. And, in most cases, he left it to a whim of the moment.

A soft grumbling sound next to him met Wolfram's ears. The Maou had, at some point during the night, faded and Yuuri was now the changeling left in his place. The brightness of the room was waking him and he rubbed his eyes with slight annoyance. "Too bright," he whined in a sleepy voice.

"Do you want me to shut the curtain, then?" Wolfram asked coldly. The wimp could be such a bother sometimes.

"Hm…dunno…" A half snore followed. "Yeah."

"Fine," Wolfram sighed harshly as he grabbed the edge of the curtain and yanked it back into place, leaving the pair in shadow once more. "But I didn't think this was the kind of thing you liked."

"L…Like?" Black eyes opened. In a flash, Yuuri was sitting up in the bed before he was even fully awake but it didn't matter. He took in the sight of Wolfram with the largest smile the blond had ever seen on his face. "Wolf! You're alive!" He couldn't believe it! It was incredible! A miracle! Yuuri grabbed Wolfram before he could say anything back and, in a matter of seconds, the ex-prince was crushed to the young king's chest. "You're real, right? This isn't a dream or a dream-vision?" He closed his eyes to memorize the feeling.

Wolfram patted Yuuri on the back reassuringly. "Not a dream, wimp. I'm here…in the dark… Even though you made me shut the curtain. So, you'd better not complain."

He could feel hot tears against his neck and collarbone now. "Wolf!" A chuckle mixed with a sob followed. "That's so like you to say that. You're here! But I saw you fall. You fell and I…" More tears came and he sobbed against Wolfram like a child this time.

"I know I did," the blond admitted. He felt a little ashamed about it now, but he knew that, if given the choice again, he'd do exactly the same thing. "But I couldn't risk your life. You're too important to the people here. I couldn't take you away from them…drag you down with me. It would be selfish."

Yuuri buried his wet face in Wolfram's neck and sniffled. "Together…that's what you promised a long time ago. 'If you fall, I'll fall with you.' But, this time, you made me let go. You fell on your own."

Wolfram smiled sadly as he patted Yuuri's back. "Don't you see your own worth? I am your…" He paused for a moment, gathering himself, and then went on. "I am your _subject_. My duty…my place in this world is to…"

_Is to love you… Why can't I say it?_

"…To protect you…"

He stroked black hair softly. "And, if that means you bury my bones and say a few words at my gravestone, then it will be worth it."

But Yuuri gripped him tighter, anger coming to him. "Don't say that!"

"You're a good person and a good king."

"Not the point!"

Wolfram forced a smile on his face. "No, that's exactly the point." He stroked Yuuri's shoulders and his hair again—continuing the motions until he felt the young king relax in his arms. "So, don't argue with me."

"I'm just…glad that you're back," he said, holding the blond around the middle.

"Thank you."

_But nothing has changed between us…_

_

* * *

_

Wolfram managed to eat a little breakfast under the watchful eye of Yuuri. And, after borrowing some clothes—at Yuuri's insistence—the blond spent the rest of the day in the infirmary.

It worried Yuuri, his mother, and brothers that he did so. But, Wolfram simply explained that he was tired and that he'd prefer to sleep for the rest of the day. Gissela, wanting to observe the recovery, agreed to the plan and allowed him to do so. And Wolfram did sleep—forcing himself when necessary. Some part of him wanted to stay that way. He could dream his life away and make the world an easier place. But he also knew that avoiding his problems wouldn't change anything. Eventually, he'd get visitors and the questions would start: "When are you getting out of here?" and "When are you going to start eating dinner with everyone?" and, worse yet, "Where are you sleeping tonight?"

* * *

Conrad and Gwendal looked up from their hushed conversation over tea in the rose garden when Yuuri approached their table. The two brothers had decided to have their "meeting" away from the office and the guards staffed outside of it so that no one could overhear. Also, it would give them a chance to talk without Günter and Yuuri joining in. Gwendal had thought of it as a "family" discussion anyway and didn't want anyone to interfere.

Too late now.

"Hi, guys!" Yuuri said as he approached them and took a chair without being asked.

Gwendal gave a firm nod to his king and Conrad's pleasant smile returned to his face. "Glad you could join us, Yuuri," he greeted as his godson took a cookie from the plate in front of them and munched on it good-naturedly.

"Have you heard anything about Wolfram?" he asked, crumbs falling onto his chest in exactly the way that Wolfram would have hated.

Gwendal took a breath and let it out slowly, keeping his temper in check. "He's still sleeping in the infirmary."

He checked his watch. "Yeah, I know…but it's almost 4:20 and he's still sleeping. That's just not like him."

Conrad switched to his supportive smile. "I think, after all he's been through, we should let him sleep for as long as he likes."

Some papers were stacked up next to Gwendal along with a letter on top that was clearly in Wolfram's handwriting. The administrator noticed Yuuri's eyes darting to the page and back again. "Yes," he confirmed, "it's the letter that my brother wrote…telling me of his intention to quit the military and end his engagement to you."

Yuuri's face frowned and, absently, he reached for another cookie from the plate. It gave him something to do.

Gwendal picked up the letter and scanned it even though he knew the contents well. "Says…Gissela tells him that he won't be as he was before. He can ride a horse again but all fighting would have to be on horseback. If he got knocked off by an enemy…"

"He'd be toast," Yuuri said sadly.

Gwendal darkened. "A poor choice of words," he informed him, "considering it's my brother we're talking about."

Yuuri looked up from his half-eaten cookie. He really hadn't tasted it at all. "Sorry."

"And, considering the fact that he'd broken off his engagement to you, Wolfram really should not have been sleeping in your bed last night," the administrator continued.

Conrad sat in his chair, head turning left and right—as though he were a spectator at a tennis match. Finally deciding to jump in he said, "Well, after Yuuri had healed Wolfram, it would have been impossible…and disrespectful…to have said 'no' to his request to sleep with Wolfram by his side."

Yuuri did his best to keep from looking uncomfortable, but Conrad was bringing up a topic that Yuuri didn't want discussed so openly. Sometimes, the way the people of Shin Makoku viewed intimacy was too much–making him crave for the simplicity of Japanese life. Not to mention, Yuuri had no memory of what went on last night. From his viewpoint, he was standing on the balcony one minute and he woke up in bed with Wolfram the next. Yuuri had been informed by Conrad that he'd healed Wolfram and what an excellent job that he'd done—but Yuuri recalled none of it and felt strange in accepting the thanks of the family once again.

"I…care about Wolfram," Yuuri told them. "I mean…we all do, you know. And that goes without saying. Still…you know…"

_The fact that I'm blabbering on goes without saying, too_ he thought. _Why am I the thing that can't shut up? _he wondered as Gwendal shot him a "stop talking" glare.

"Right now, we're still interrogating the prisoner," Conrad explained, changing the subject abruptly. It was enough to let Yuuri know that his godfather didn't believe him, either.

And that upset him.

Yuuri knew that he had feelings for Wolfram. He wouldn't have cried so much had it been otherwise.

Wolfram mattered. But what if his feelings were not enough and he ended up hurting Wolfram more?

"Yes, once we got that brainless-Alec out of the locked trunk…which took some doing," Gwendal complained before taking a sip of his tea, "because the damn fool stuck the end of a thin dagger into the lock, repeatedly, damaging the mechanism…"

"He really wanted to hurt Wolfram, huh?" Yuuri said vaguely, having finished his cookie.

"A feeble attempt at best from a total amateur," Conrad confirmed. "But the greater threat was Chadwick. He was a master manipulator." He gave an almost apologetic look to his older brother. "Usually, I can sense that kind of thing from people, but I totally missed it in Chadwick."

"Like all of Wolfram's men, they're a little in love with him," Gwendal acknowledged while Yuuri grabbed another cookie like an automaton from the plate before him. The rigid movements caught the attention of the other two at the table.

"It's true," Gwendal gruffed, "whether you want to accept the fact or not. We just assumed that if they loved him, they would never want to hurt him."

"Love and loyalty are two different things," Conrad acknowledged, stirring his tea again with a small spoon. "Maybe, it's for the best Gissela has ordered his early retirement from the military."

"Leaving him…what?" Gwendal asked bluntly. He knew how much his brother loved what he did and took great pride in doing so. From childhood, Wolfram wanted nothing more than to be a soldier and to prove himself.

Conrad's eyes drifted to the letter again. "Nothing…but, maybe, this will give him a chance to find out."

Yuuri crunched into his cookie again with a small blush coming across his cheeks. "I could…you know…slap him again…" He shrugged uncomfortably, knowing that the eyes of the others were on him. "You know, we could get married and he could be Prince Consort or whatever title Günter can come up with."

Conrad shook his head "no." "I won't allow it."

The double black choked on his cookie and Gwendal quickly poured a cup of tea for him. Handing it over, he said, "It took long enough for our brother to see the light. The two of you don't belong together. I can't allow him to return to the ridiculous ranting and the humiliating chases through the castle." This time, Gwendal's tone sounded exactly like Shori's always did when something was necessary.

"There was that," Conrad slowly acknowledged, agreeing with his brother.

"Not to mention," Gwendal added, eyes almost staring Yuuri down, "Even when he was with you…he was lonely."

"Lonely?" Yuuri repeated. He had no idea. He really hadn't.

"I don't think I want to watch it anymore, either," Conrad agreed in an even tone. "So, don't you think it's for the best to have a pleasant friendship with Wolfram instead of going back to the past?" He pointed to the letter. "Wolfram is finally letting you go."

Yuuri put his cookie down. "I…I always thought you guys were amused by everything," he confessed. "Or, at least, you always seemed to."

"The first two years, yes," Conrad said. "But, after that…"

"The whole time, I thought it was going to give me an ulcer," Gwendal gruffed into the next sip of his drink. "To see him that miserable…"

Yuuri frowned at him. "Wolfram wasn't miserable. He could have left if it was that bad."

Both brothers flashed a look at each other and then back at Yuuri. "You've never been in love, Yuuri," Conrad said, "because, if you had been, you would have understood him. The 'good' outweighed the 'bad' with you just barely enough to make him stay…just enough to keep him holding on to hope."

Gwendal gathered up the papers and tapped them on the table in an official manner—signaling the end of the meeting. "I will file these and, as of this moment, you are officially a free man, Yuuri Heika. You are single once more." He stood from his chair and grumbled, "congratulations."

* * *

Just before dinner, Gissela pronounced Wolfram in perfect physical condition and sent him on his way with a hearty slap on the back. Wolfram, instead of eating, wandered the castle as though he were a tourist. Poking his nose here, peeking in there. He visited his childhood haunts and avoided any place that smelled like food. The kitchens meant "people" and anyone who had taken a tray of food from the kitchens meant "people," too.

Wolfram wanted to be alone.

Walking along one hall, he could hear the distinct laugh of Yozak. He seemed to be talking to someone in the room with him. As Wolfram neared, he realized that it was his older brother, Conrad.

"Wait! No! Where'd you pull that ace from?"

"Don't ask questions unless you want to hear the answers," Conrad teased back.

There was the sound of cards being shuffled again.

"Could be dangerous, huh?" Now, Yozak was flirting back.

"Ace in the hole…"

Wolfram raised an eyebrow at that last one. His brother never "talked blue" but he had a habit, after a few beers, of clever double entendres that seemed out of character for such a straight laced man. Then again, after hours, many military men let their "private" selves come forth.

Could he have done the same? Become less strict, less perfect.

Learn to _live_ before it was too late. Because _now_ felt too late. He really thought he had more time—time with Yuuri.

Looking back on it, was he an old man in a young man's skin? Someone had said that about him when he got engaged to Yuuri. All he ever did was complain, correct, and follow his maou.

He wanted attention and that was the only way he got it.

"But did it really get me what I wanted?" he asked himself as he wandered on through the drafty castle.

Before Wolfram knew it, he found himself at the door he least wanted to be standing in front of. It was his bedroom door. The night before, he had been confronted by Alec and Chadwick was still alive. Wolfram had learned so much—too much—and felt that he hadn't had the time to sort it all through in his mind. Even now, he didn't want to be here. But, he couldn't go scurrying off to his mother or his brothers (especially Conrad). Yuuri's bedroom was out, too. He needed to draw the line somewhere even if The Maou had asked him for his heart, his love.

Wolfram took the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Slowly, he opened it. The hinges squeaked. Usually, it bothered him but not tonight. Tonight, the whole room bothered him.

Things were there and cleaned but out of place. Gwendal must have had the whole room searched and sketched—recorded for clues and documentation of the events which took place. Following that, the maids must have tidied up, changed the linens, and he wasn't sure who put up a new curtain rod and curtains. But, those were there as well.

Wolfram stood in the middle of his room and absolutely hated it. He felt violated. His privacy was gone, invaded by other people. Just how many people tramped through here and poked around? Possibly, they were there on orders or had good intentions. But Wolfram didn't care. His private sanctum—his place away from the world—had been invaded and Wolfram wondered if he would ever feel good about this place again.

Then, he shook his head.

He had to sleep here. He had nowhere else to go.

"I'm so pathetic," Wolfram spat as he went to the door and closed it. "This place is just an empty room. It shouldn't be a big deal for me to be here."

He glanced at the packed trunks, now closed and waiting for the orders to be moved to the carriage to take him away. The closet was open and empty, too. Only the pink nightie was on the bed along with a new, neatly folded bathrobe and clean underwear.

Wolfram approached the bed, taking up his things in his arms. "I suppose a bath wouldn't hurt. But, I'm not using the royal bath. I'll find something closer…quieter." The soft material sagged in his hands. Then, he suddenly tossed everything in a heap on the end of the bed. "On second thought, this leg brace is a pain to put on and take off…"

A knock.

Another.

"Fine! One minute!" He actually hobbled as he hurried to the door. He cursed his leg as he opened the door and found waiting on the other side…

The Maou spirit.

"H-Hello," Wolfram said, totally surprised at the visit. "Please come in." The blond stood aside to let him pass.

A nervous, middle aged kitchen servant followed. She had a platter with Doria's famous ham and cheese sandwiches with vegetable sticks on the side and a pitcher of apple cider. The dessert seemed to be a pudding piled high with whipped cream and strawberries.

Kindly, The Maou took the tray from her. Eyes down, she curtseyed and rushed out of the room, heading back for the kitchen.

"She's a little nervous even around me," Wolfram admitted as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Then again, I did set the tablecloth on fire when I was 21 because I didn't want the peas she brought me."

The Maou pointed a finger at the door and it closed on its own—but not before people out in the hallway got a glimpse of him. Their eyes widened in surprise as the door shut smartly in their faces. Wolfram had to laugh at it a little.

That got the spirit's attention back to him and he took a place at the other side of the tray. He offered a sandwich to Wolfram and said, "Eat." There would be no arguments on the matter. Even so, Wolfram was about to say that he really wasn't that hungry when his stomach begged to differ.

"R-r-r-rrr…"

Wolfram visibly colored and shoved the sandwich into his mouth. He munched with full cheeks and tightened his stomach when another "R-r-r-rrr…" came out even louder. "Stupid stomach…always talking at the wrong time."

This time, The Maou did laugh. And what a hearty one it was.

Wolfram stopped himself in mid-bite and found that it was a beautiful sound, The Maou's laughter. Yes, it was aimed in his direction. But, it was hard to hate something so…appealing. Wolfram shook off the feelings for the time being and dug into the rest of the sandwiches as The Maou took in the room.

"This night, I shall stay with thee once more…"

Wolfram took a sip from his cup. The apple cider was particularly good. "No, it's okay… I'm not a little boy. I'm fine here."

The Maou smiled but his slit-like eyes seemed to take on a determined edge. "I wish to stay with thee…therefore…" He lifted up Wolfram's chin with a finger. "Or, am I unwelcome…?"

With a smile coming to him, the blond caught The Maou's hand and held it. "You are most welcome but I can take care of myself."

"Stubborn."

"Always," Wolfram laughed into his cup.

"Lovely," The Maou hummed, moving the tray out of the way so that they could sit side by side.

"Always," he joked back.

"And modest, too…" The Maou said, now sitting side by side.

Wolfram smiled up. "Maybe." But, then, his good cheer faded. "Still, I can handle this room and everything that happened yesterday. It will be fine."

"Please find another," The Maou pressed, "…and stay by my side someday."

Wolfram opened his mouth but realized that he had no response to that. He had written those letters and had made plans to go. But it seemed as though everyone had just passed it off as a whim or a tantrum. It was always that way.

Wolfram laced hands with The Maou and leaned his head against his shoulder.

So, maybe, there was no harm in staying for awhile. And he could give things a try with the handsome, dark haired man who wanted him. But there was a lingering shadow—some part of him wondered if Yuuri was watching through The Maou's eyes.

If he cared.

But it wasn't the kind of "care" that Wolfram wanted or needed.

An arm reached around Wolfram's shoulder. "This night, I shall stay. In the 'morrow, find another room within the castle. Chose any and I shall follow."

"Persistent," Wolfram said as a whisper.

"Love-felt," The Maou corrected, taking up the tray and leaving it on Wolfram's desk. He offered up the frilly pink nightie and waited patiently for Wolfram to get ready for bed.

The blond looked at the gown and then up at the spirit. "I think you just want to watch me undress…"

An arm snaked around Wolfram's waist, reeling him in. Their bodies were pressed close. The Maou's eyes were drawn to Wolfram's lips once more. "The only defense…" he whispered seductively, "…is a man…am I."

"You certainly are."


	14. Chapter 14

.

Chapter 14

.

Wolfram had half-expected, or half-hoped, for something more. But, the best he got was sitting side by side in the bed while sharing his whipped cream and strawberries pudding with a very dark, very toothsome maou.

Bites were shared with furtive glances. And Wolfram had no doubt that eating from the same spoon was an indirect kiss. But did The Maou see it that way? He seemed to be in a boyish mood at the moment. So, there was no point in asking him. Who knew where it would lead to?

While his mind was preoccupied, the spoon they had both been eating from was taken away from Wolfram. The Maou dug it into the bowl and came away with an extra large bite (which Wolfram was certain he could never ever down no matter how wide he stretched his mouth). The blond frowned at it. After all, it was ridiculous—almost obscene—in its globular shape with the creamy goodness oozing over the side.

But, no matter. In a swift movement, The Maou wiped the _back_ of the spoon against Wolfram's button nose instead! Then, the spirit chuckled heartily to himself as he ate from the spoon in modest pecks, watching the blond and seeing what he would do.

Wolfram grimaced, rubbing the stickiness from the bridge of his nose. "Think that was funny?" he growled in an undertone.

"Most assuredly."

Wolfram picked up a large, red berry sliced in half. "I could…most _assuredly_…think of amusing things with this, too."

A black eyebrow arched and then The Maou leaned forward, opened his mouth, and took in the berry—with the tips of Wolfram's fingers still there.

The blond's eyes widened and he could feel the berry slip away. Lips were gently kissing the tips of his fingers but Wolfram let them linger—just a little longer than necessary.

"Not fair," Wolfram said, but his words carried no anger.

"Vexed?" The Maou asked, picking up another berry and offering it. It hovered before Wolfram's lips. He had debated with himself whether or not to open his mouth when The Maou began to softly stroke it against his lips. "My bright one will taste most delicious by evening's end," he teased lightly, "should he not open."

But there was something about it. Was it a game between them? Or were they courting? Wolfram wasn't sure and that took some of the fun out of it. If he knew, then he would know what to do next—how long to expect this undivided attention from The Maou.

How long to enjoy it…

The spirit was about to try a new tactic with the pudding again when he noticed the change in Wolfram. The dark cloud covering him. "Thou art truly vexed?" He seemed mildly surprised. Wolfram had always been so fiery—there was a kind of pleasure in seeing him annoyed, happy, or curious. He was at his best when animated with sparkling emerald eyes and determination in his heart.

"No, just tired, I guess," Wolfram shrugged. And, while it was true, (it was on the list of things he was feeling), it just wasn't the number one thing on his list.

The Maou hummed a little as he took the dessert and placed the remains on one of the end tables.

"Agreed, time for rest." He took the blankets in one hand and fluffed them. Next, Wolfram found himself and his bedmate cuddled together with the blankets being tucked in. "Oh, and bright one?"

The face with black-slitted eyes leaned forward to see him better.

"Hm?" Wolfram said as he looked over his shoulder.

Without warning, The Maou pulled him into a kiss. It was soft and sweet at first. Kind. But, then, The Maou broke it and came for another as fingers delved into blond hair. This kiss seemed to have purpose and need.

Wolfram slowly closed his eyes and simply decided to allow him to have his way—as much as he wanted. And he would go _as far_ as he wanted, too.

This was The Maou, after all. And a king's will—a king's _desire_—should never be questioned.

"Thy lips are of strawberry," The Maou said with a snap of his fingers, extinguishing all of the candles in the room. "succulent…but clean now."

A beat.

Then, he got it.

He pushed himself up on an elbow, snapped his fingers, and, using his fire magic, the candles blazed back into life.

"Wait," the blond began darkly, "are you saying that the _only_ reason you kissed me…was to clean off my mouth?"

"Most assuredly."

The candles died and the room fell into inky blackness.

A chuckle in the dark.

"Would thou prefer more? Provide for you, I can…many kisses."

A hand touched Wolfram's cheek.

Wolfram turned back, flopped in the bed, and crossed his arms against himself defiantly. Yes, now he was "vexed" and it was all The Maou's fault. Wolfram couldn't believe himself. Just a moment ago, he was willing to kiss The Maou—to kiss and, possibly, do more! How pathetic was that? "Ass," the blond muttered. Then, he shot up in the bed, legs scrambling beneath him. Angry and breathing hard, he turned to his bedmate. "What, The Hell, was that? You grabbed my bum!"

"Apologies," The Maou chuckled, "but thou spoke of 'ass' and methinks it to be an invitation."

"It was not!"

"Oh?" The voice sounded curious. "Then, what of this?"

The sheets rustled.

Wolfram actually giggled that time. Fingers were digging in, tickling his ribs and Wolfram found himself laughing hard with arms and legs flailing. The Maou was on top of him, now, pinning him down and, no matter which way the blond moved, the tickling fingers found him.

"Please!" Wolf begged, breathing hard and then bursting into peals of laughter. His voice was ringing off the walls with the next round.

"Please…what, dear bright one?"

"S-Stop!" he begged with a red face. "Ha ha ha ha! P-People are going to hear me!" Wolfram wiggled again and laughed even louder. Even in the dark, he could feel his face was flushed. "No more…MORE! Can't take it!"

"Then, I may kiss thee for any reason?" He whispered into Wolfram's ear. And, with that, he let him go and rolled off.

The blond, still almost gulping air, put his head on his silk pillow and thought about it briefly before saying a breathy, "Yes."

"Then, I am most content." Strong arms wrapped themselves around the lithe body next to him.

Wolfram, still taking in large lung-fulls of air, returned hoarsely, "I'm glad."

* * *

Back in the early days, Wolfram could do it almost instantly. But, not now. It took awhile for Wolfram to fall into a deep sleep. The Maou waited patiently for it, though. He watched his "bright one" with a pleased expression on his face until well after midnight. And, once the snoring had begun, The Maou wrapped one golden curl around his finger as he contemplated what was to come.

The Maou knew that the sun would rise soon enough but he also knew that Yuuri had not learned his lesson the previous morning. He'd awakened to find Wolfram alive. Yes, his outpouring of emotion was good. But it was not good enough. Yuuri had not yet understood what it meant to lose Wolfram or what it meant to have Wolfram belong to someone else—someone who would treat him better, say, like himself, The Maou.

Idly, the spirit traced gentle patterns across Wolfram's arms and chest. This seemed to be something his body enjoyed and Wolfram, still sleeping, smiled at the touches.

"Apologies, bright one…but Yuuri Heika should come to know this future…our future…once you accept this heart of mine." And, with gentle fingers, the spirit unbuttoned Wolfram.

The first, an ivory button, was hidden beneath the dark pink bow. But, others, matching the material, followed.

Button by tiny button…down the chest.

The silky material willingly opened to The Maou, welcoming him and the strokes of his fingers.

The last button was mid-chest on Wolfram's nightie and The Maou opened the delicate cloth, pushing it past Wolfram's pale shoulder. Fingers delved into blond hair almost roughly, messing it up in a way that the silk pillow never did.

In his sleep, Wolfram wrinkled his nose.

The Maou waited for him to fall asleep again. Then, The Maou got out of bed.

"Yurri Heika…" he tisked as he stripped off his trousers and thong. "Ye shall see," he promised as he got back into the bed totally nude.

After taking the hem of Wolfram's gown and pushing it up well past his thighs, The Maou cuddled against the blond and fell asleep—his features easily melting back into the boyish good looks of Shibuya Yuuri.

And dawn came soon enough.

* * *

"Yuuri Heika?" Knock. Knock. "Heika? Are you there?"

He waited uncomfortably for a response. People were passing by in the hallway, giving him strange looks. Maids, carrying mops and buckets, whispered to each other.

The previous night, three castle guards had reported to Gwendal that they'd seen The Maou disappearing into Wolfram's room with a kitchen servant and a tray of food. This was later confirmed by the whole kitchen staff. Gleefully, they'd spent hours gossiping about it. Worse yet, there were more reports from passers-by that they'd heard Wolfram giggling uncontrollably and begging someone with the word "please" with a breathy voice.

Gwendal, of course, was _not amused_ and instructed Günter that he will "fetch Heika" at the first opportunity.

Later, the four of them would have a talk.

So, somewhat earlier than usual, Günter continued to knock on Wolfram's bedroom door until, finally, the blond rolled over to Yuuri and half-groaned "Deal with him, wimp." Because, if Yuuri wasn't going to deal with the oaf, he'd gladly blast the door away with a fireball just to keep the man from knocking on it. Sure, he'd feel drained for the rest of the day, but it would be worth it.

Yuuri yawned and stretched. He scratched the back of his head a little. Something was tickling at the back of his mind…a certain, obvious, _something_. Heavily, his head fell back on his pillow until he realized it in a flash. He could feel the sheets—a little _too well_.

Black eyes suddenly bulging out of his head, he sat up and stared frightfully at the blankets that were pooled around his waist. Then, he turned his head to the closed door.

"Heika? Can I come in?"

Yuuri looked around the room in a panic, taking in everything and nothing. This, for certain, wasn't his room. "G-Günter?" Yuuri cringed at his frightened voice. He tried again. "I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

The double black tried to decide which would be worse: Having Günter walk in and see him naked in bed with Wolfram or having Günter walk in, see him in bed naked with Wolfram, and collapsing due to blood loss. There was no way the advisor could see this and not get a massive nosebleed.

"But, Your Highness!" Günter whined, worried he'd get in trouble with Gwendal.

"I'll see you guys a little later," Yuuri promised with a stress on the final word. "Wolfram and I are in…" His eyes drifted to his snoozing bedmate, blankets down and nightie pushed up high on his thighs, "conference"—he choked the word out.

Wolfram had kicked off the blankets but, otherwise, had been much the way that The Maou had left him. The bare shoulder and the hiked-up nightie suggesting much that the double black was not ready for.

"O-Okay, Heika…"

The sound of Günter walking away didn't make Yuuri feel much better, though. Now, he had something else to deal with. A big something! Yuuri could feel adrenaline rush in his body. Did he lose his virginity last night? Did he? If he did, he totally missed out on it! Yuuri had no memory of doing anything with Wolfram at all. His last recollection was thinking about Wolfram and wanting to talk to him, to somehow spend time with him. And, then…nothing!

He glanced at the blond in the bed next to him. Certainly, something _did_ happen between them. There was no way that this scene could be innocent. He covered his mouth with his hand. _Oh, Hell!_

The squirming of his bedmate and the "pounding," in his viewpoint, on the door was enough to wake Wolfram and put him in a very pissy mood. He didn't like any of this nonsense this early in the morning nor did he like the freezing shoulder that he had for some inexplicable reason. Once more awake, Wolfram could, at least, see why his shoulder was bothering him. His nightie had been unbuttoned and done open.

Oddly, Yuuri was in bed next to him—blushing furiously.

"What's your problem?" Wolfram yawned, stretching out his legs.

The movements looked suggestive—_provocative_—and the double black gripped the blankets hard. "We… 'did it,' didn't we?" Black eyes seemed worried and it was rare for Wolfram to see him so anxious so early in the day.

The blond woke up a little more, rubbing his right eye with the heel of his hand. "Did…_it_?" Wolfram yawned again, not catching his meaning until Yuuri, modestly, tried to cover himself with more of the blankets.

Now, the blond was WIDE awake. The two of them were in bed together and, he bet, Yuuri was naked even though he remembered The Maou wearing trousers to bed. He even recalled the feel of the material against his bare legs.

The bishonen folded his arms._ Ah, this is just another one of The Maou's pranks. He was in such a playful mood last night that I'm sure this is just something more to yank my chain._

"Wolf…Wolf I," Yuuri fretted. What if he'd hurt Wolfram in a moment of passion or if there was something—some kind of cultural landmine—that he was going to step on next if he ignored their situation? This world was so impossible to understand sometimes! "I…I will take responsibility," he promised, his tone repentant.

"For?" Wolfram asked, now lying on his back. He arched in the bed and slowly buttoned up his night shirt. The blond sliced a look at Yuuri as his fingers brushed against the silk—easily buttoning the material back in place, the softness caressing against skin, pooling against it in places, hugging it in others.

Yuuri watched, almost dry mouthed at the sight. Wolfram was prettier, in his opinion, than any woman. He'd held that belief for years and always would. But, right now…!

"F-For this…" He gestured to the bed and the two of them. "For us…last night…" Yes, if he was entranced just by Wolfram "buttoning himself up," the double black could only imagine the opposite. It was no wonder that he, or The Maou, had simply lost control.

An even stare. "Why? You never did before."

Yuuri was not getting off the hook so easily, it seemed.

"Well, I've taken your…" He visibly colored. "I mean, the two of us…naked and all…here and…"

Wolfram shrugged carelessly and rolled away from him. "We've been naked together before. It's not like it means anything. Remember all of those baths?"

Yuuri pulled the covers closer to him as he argued back, "Bathing is one thing. But waking up nude next to you is another matter entirely!" And, then, it hit him. In all of the mangas and the animes that he'd known of—and especially the sneak peeks at the doujinshis supposedly well-hidden at the local convenience store—all of the ukes had sex naked while those who "topped" were partially clothed. Yuuri pulled away the blankets and took a peek at himself. Yes, 'little Yuuri' was staring back at him with a single eye.

_So, did that mean that…?_

He swallowed thickly.

No, it was just early morning and he needed to relieve his bladder. Yes, he'd go with that one for now. One disaster at a time.

"Wolf, we did…ya know? Last night…?"

_Wait! If I have no memory, could it be entirely…?_ He decided to try again. "Uh….what I mean to say is, did you and The Maou…?" Oh, no! That sounded much worse once he said it!

Wolfram rolled back and pushed himself up on an elbow. His angry eyes lingered on Yuuri's face for only a moment and, then, darted down. With a hard tone, he said, "I think your clothes are on the floor over there."

He was right. They were piled in a heap.

"But, Wolf!"

The blond settled back into the blankets and warmed his shoulder. Whatever The Maou was planning, he wasn't sure. But the attention stroked Wolfram's ego and, even with this prank, it felt nice to see Yuuri off balance. Some part of him thought the double black deserved it and he probably did.

A swift kick in the pants would have been better, though.

"_But, Wolf_…nothing," the blond returned, mimicking his voice. "Besides, you need to get ready for today's events."

"Which are?" Yuuri asked, scratching his head uncomfortably. Was there something else? Obviously, there had to be or Günter wouldn't have come here—to this room—to get him to start the day, Yuuri supposed.

"Most of our guests will be departing today," Wolfram reminded him in a hard tone. "And you really should say 'goodbye' to Amanda von Hoff, right?"

"Amanda…" Yuuri lowered his head a little at the name. He'd totally forgotten about the girl with the sea foam eyes and her offer to birth a child for them. Now that the engagement was over, he decided there was no need in telling Wolfram about the suggestion. It would only cause hard feelings because of Wolfram's innate jealousy and he really had no plans in going through with it anyway. Getting close to Wolfram again was his new goal. Building trust between them. They needed that. Maybe, he could make some concessions—do a little "give and take," teach Wolfram how to do that, too.

"Wolf, I'm not sure if…"

"She will be sad," Wolfram continued, knowing how to play Yuuri's heartstrings if it meant getting him to leave the room, "if she departs the castle without saying goodbye to you. She will think she's done something to offend you."

Yuuri found it hard to breathe. The suggestion pained him a little, for Wolfram's jealousy was something he had come to expect. And, with it gone, that meant…

"Take Greta with you," Wolfram suggested.

He gave the blond a blank stare. "Wolf, this sounds so…unlike you," Yuuri said, feeling unhappy that Wolfram was being this way and talking to him without looking at him. Yes, this had to be because something must have happened between them last night and Wolfram wasn't going to say a word about it.

Yuuri didn't like not knowing.

The blond was still lying on his side, facing the wall. "You're running out of time," the bishonen sighed impatiently because Yuuri really needed to get ready. But, to the double black, all he could hear was The Maou's past warning: "Time… Thou hath so little left." Wolfram had to be rescued.

_Time…_

"Uh…Wait, why would Amanda and her father's entourage leave now? I thought they were to stay for a full month?"

Wolfram shrugged in the bed. "Considering the on-going investigation into Chadwick and Alec Barth, not to mention the guests as well as the nobles watching me fall from a balcony, many chose to leave early."

"I guess…you're right." It was a reasonable response. With everything so up in the air, all of the fun had been taken out of things, Yuuri supposed.

"Plus, I overheard while in the infirmary, you're not really paying attention in meetings and you've been 'indisposed' with other tasks."

Again, Yuuri scratched his head. "What, exactly, does that mean?"

Wolfram translated, "They think you're trying to downplay the 'incident' with Chadwick as well as the sudden ending of our engagement. So, you're too busy to rub elbows."

Yuuri leaned over and touched Wolfram's shoulder. "They know that our engagement is over? Who told them?"

With frustration, Wolfram closed his eyes, reminding himself that he would try to sleep again once Yuuri left the room. "Proclamation. All noble houses, the military, and Shinou's Temple are required to be informed of royal marriages, annulments, and deaths. At some point, Gwendal will tell you that you're a free man and, not long afterwards, the noble houses will be competing for your attention…sending representatives as possible marriageable spouses and concubines."

Nervously, Yuuri licked his lips. He'd already been told by Gwendal that he was a free man.

"I see…"

The blond gave a non-committal hum in response.

Instead of feeling better, the double black felt a chill coming to him. He missed it, Wolfram's usual barks or complaints followed by reassurances—promises that things would work themselves out. Together, they'd make that happen.

He reached to the floor and took his clothes, putting on the thong first. "Concubines…?" he said, doing his best to keep Wolfram talking to him, "They didn't try to send any when we first got engaged."

"Because I let it be known that I'd personally fry anyone who tried." A soft, bitter laugh followed, making the double black look back at him. Wolfram's hair was a mess and the lithe body in the bed seemed more frail than before. "Not that it matters…"

"I'm sorry, Wolfram."

"I'm not," the blond lied a little too quickly. He really didn't want to be having this conversation. Instead, he wanted to sleep—to dream of something better. "So, you need to go now before Günter returns. I don't want him thumping on my door again and causing a fuss in the hallway."

Yuuri stood up, trousers on now, and pushed his arms through the sleeves of his white shirt. "I'll come back later and see you, okay?"

A shake of the head. "Sorry, but no. I won't be here."

"You can't possibly be thinking of leaving the castle!" Yuuri argued, putting his black jacket on. He'd fight the bishonen on this one if he had to. Wolfram wasn't strong enough to sit for hours in a carriage going to 'Shinou only knew' where. And he wasn't even cleared by Gissela to ride his horse.

Slowly, Wolfram rolled onto his back and stared evenly at Yuuri. "I'll be changing rooms."

"Oh," Yuuri said, now getting it and feeling foolish for not realizing it sooner. "I can kinda see why. This place has some bad memories, huh?" Then, with a slight blush coming to him, he asked, "Are you moving back in with me?"

Wolfram shook his head. "No."

Yuuri's heart hurt at the answer—how easily it was spoken.

"But, you can …because, if we did have sex and all…I'll take responsibility. And we like being together, right?" He toed the carpet with his shoe.

Wolfram's expression remained bland.

_I don't think The Maou would care for that one bit. And you're so naïve. Even I know we didn't do anything last night. It was just a practical joke by The Maou._

"No need," the blond said tiredly. "I can take care of myself."

"But, Wolf…!"

A knock at the door. "Heika? Heika?" Günter was back. "Sire? We really have a full schedule today," he explained nervously through the door, his voice taking a shrill pitch. "You need to bathe, have an early breakfast, meet with…"

"Better go, Yuuri."

The double black gave the bed one final glance. He was still worried. "Yeah."

The "old" Wolfram would have gotten out of bed, nagged him to get ready sooner and straightened his collar while giving him tips on protocol and warnings about staying away from pretty faces—both men and women. Instead, Wolfram was simply lying there with a tired expression on his face.

"Bye." Wolfram rolled back onto his side and closed his green eyes. This, he promised himself, would get easier with time. Somehow, things would work themselves out or, at worst, he would grow numb to it. But, for now, he felt something ache from within. It pained him, hurting a little too much because, instead of being an "ex-fiancé," he awoke to becoming an "obligation" that Yuuri had to "take responsibility" for.

And Wolfram had grown weary of obligations and duties.

* * *

The double black rounded the corner with Conrad and Greta only to realize…

Wolfram had been right.

"Yuuri Heika!" Amanda almost squealed, turning to see him coming up the narrow cobblestone path holding hands with Greta and with Conrad being a dutiful shadow. Amanda's father and entourage made a pleased but discrete series of uncoordinated bows and excused themselves so the "young people" could talk.

"A delightful development" and "Things really might be looking up for our dearest Amanda," they murmured to each other.

Greta pulled out a yellow markered paper doll in a glitter-covered dress and handed it to Amanda with a wide smile. "This is you!" The blond Mazoku took the gift graciously and smiled, but her eyes practically danced when looking over to Yuuri.

Conrad chuckled a little behind them as he gave a brief "farewell" wave to Eclesta and Xeohe. The girls got into their carriage along with the other guests.

"We, uh, just came to say 'goodbye.'" Yuuri explained cheerfully, watching a white butterfly flit past from the corner of his eye. Greta spied it, too, and was practically prancing in place, hoping for the chance to go catch it. In Shin Makoku, white butterflies were particularly lucky. Legend had it that they would lead you to hidden treasure. Her butterflies never did, but the chase was great fun. "Greta," Yuuri murmured his daughter's name. She took the cue, curtseyed nicely and said, "Please come back soon."

The childish grin was a little too wide, too.

Yuuri laughed at her and said, "Okay, you can go now."

"Yay!" Greta shouted, bowed to both Yuuri and Amanda, and took off at a run—the butterfly taking the lead.

Politely, Yuuri walked Amanda toward her father's two private carriages—both were small but tastefully decorated which held six people each . The servants had packed all of their trunks with personal belongings neatly away. These two carriages were lined up among the others, waiting to take departure. The only thing Yuuri didn't care for was the fact that so many horses in one place led to a particularly unpleasant "zoo" smell which would take days to eradicate. His eyes stung but it appeared he was the only one to be bothered by the scent. Yuuri supposed that the people he ruled were simply used to the smell and it didn't bother them. The double black, on the other hand, suddenly wanted another bath.

"Well, here we are," Amanda said, smiling happily, "and I hope that I can come back to Blood Pledge Castle, just as Princess Greta suggested."

Yuuri tried to smile politely but not breathe. Once, he'd heard a myth that if you smelled something bad, the scent could settle on your teeth or something ludicrous like that. Okay, now, he'd have to brush his teeth well, too, before feeling totally clean again. "Yes, we'd love to have you back. Who knows when Lady Cheri will throw another party or something?"

"A much calmer party than the last one, I hope?" There was a softer smile now. "You see, I was standing there among the throng when I saw Lord Wolfram…" She didn't finish her thought, but knew she didn't need to.

"But he's fine now," Yuuri reassured.

"Because you saved him!" she practically gushed. Yuuri could really be a hero when the need arrived and to see The Maou side of him in action! What a marvel he was! "I saw! I was for certain that he'd died when he hit the green cloth but Lord von Voltaire gave first aid and, then, you turned into your Maou form and saved him!"

Yuuri nodded. That was the same story that he'd heard over and over from his advisors—all praising his valiant work. But it felt odd for taking credit for something he had no memory of. And Wolfram's words of gratitude seemed strange to him, too. And, along the way, a wall had been built between them and Yuuri wasn't sure when it happened. But, one day, he simply noticed it—came to realize it and didn't know how to over come it.

Maybe, in the dream-visions, The Maou had told him and he simply had not understood the strange wording of the Mazoku tongue that the spirit used. Or, maybe, the double black didn't want to know.

"But, what I cannot comprehend, under any circumstance, is why Lord Wolfram would break an engagement with you after you saved him?" The sea foam green eyes stared curiously into the sky, as though trying to work out a puzzle. "Though, of course," she added hastily, "it is not my place to question why someone of a lower rank would cancel an engagement to a monarch without the consent of his own noble house."

A black eyebrow arched. He glanced at Conrad who, too conveniently, was looking the other way.

_Oh, this can't be good…_

"And what would happen then?" Yuuri asked before he could stop himself. Revealing his stupidity these days didn't make him feel comfortable. But, what was said was said…

Her carefully sculpted expression let him know that she'd realized it, but she informed him with, "I believe that Lord Weller would agree that the House of von Bielefeld enjoys the benefits of the 'king's favor' by having their most eligible, and youngest, engaged to the monarch. A loss of engagement means a loss of status. In time, they will decide what will become of him…" Amanda turned and faced Yuuri fully, offering him her hand to kiss. Following protocol, Yuuri placed her knuckles to his lips as Günter had taught him to.

In his ear, Amanda whispered, "Lord Wolfram and I are related distantly by blood. In time, should I make an acceptable substitute…?"

Black eyes widened.

She stepped away with a girlish flounce of her pastel skirts. "It's not a formal offer," she laughed, pulling out her fan and giggling behind it. The king could be so serious sometimes. "Just…please remember me first."

"T-Thank you," he said diplomatically, giving her a hand as she got into her carriage. The footman stepped away with wonder. The dark, young king must truly have his eyes on her. This would be good for his master to know.

"So, maybe…again someday?" were Amanda's final words as the carriage door was closed.

"Safe journey."

Yuuri smiled and waved cheerily. On one side, Conrad stood politely with his serene smile and, on the other, Greta had her white butterfly fluttering between carefully cupped palms. High above, with the curtain drawn back, Wolfram was watching Amanda's carriage depart the front gates of Blood Pledge Castle. Then, with head bowed, he retreated inside.

It was time to begin again.

* * *

Conrad and Yozak had, somehow, met up on their way back to check in with Gwendal. With all of the departures going on, the administrator was working closely with Günter to coordinate the efforts while keeping the castle's security a high priority.

"It's going well," Conrad observed, seeming pleased with all that was going on around him. No flaws meant fewer headaches and wrinkles for his older brother. Plus, it was nice to have Yozak with him even if it was a short walk.

"Really?" Yozak asked a little too sweetly, giving him that smile which spoke volumes.

Conrad mentally groaned. Of course, the two of them hadn't met up by chance. Yozak had sought him out. Conrad stopped in the hall's intersection and looked around for a clue. But there was nothing. All he saw were servants with trunks streaming out of the castle and maids doing their best to either clean up or get out of the way. There were a few of the guests in small clusters chatting amongst themselves. But, otherwise, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

"There doesn't appear to be…"

"Take another look," the spy suggested.

Still, the same.

"Okay, try this way…" He made a grand gesture.

More people clogging the major arteries of the hallway, more servants streaming…._both_ north and south.

"What's…?" Conrad pointed.

Yozak laughed a little. "It seems like your brother is doing something very wise. He's using the castle chaos as an excellent time to switch rooms."

Sure enough, the last of Wolfram's heavy trunks were leaving his room. By the open doorway, a servant with a packing list was overseeing the duty, taking it all quite seriously by the expression on her youthful face.

"Wolfram is leaving?" Conrad breathed incredulously. He started shaking his head "no" before the words came out. "We're not allowing this. Let's go talk to Gwendal right now!"

A hand touched the soldier's sleeve kindly, stopping him. "It's not what you think. I did a little digging. You know how I am." A sky blue eye winked at him. "He's moving into a different room within the castle." Yozak folded his arms against his chest and leaned casually against the rough, stone wall. "I can't really blame him for wanting a different place to sleep, can you?"

Conrad's lips tightened into a thin line. Yozak didn't see that as a good sign. It meant that there was a struggle brewing within him and Conrad, despite his calm and rational reputation, was a difficult person to comfort.

"Want a little advice?" Yozak asked.

Now, he had Conrad's attention. "Yes? What?"

"Let him do this." Yozak came closer, eye to eye. "If anyone pushes him any harder, he might just leave in the night."

Brown eyes narrowed at that thought.

"And, we both know who will be assigned to come bring Little Lord Brat back, huh? And we know how absolutely _thrilled_ he'll be to see me. After all, I've got a new red dress your mother gave me. It's perfect for rescues… or abductions of blond ex-princes from their hideouts." Now, there was a sunny smile coming from the spy. It wasn't one of his best smiles, but it was enough to lighten the mood a little.

"He's not such a 'brat' anymore," Conrad defended but with a somewhat brighter tone. He could just imagine an indignant Wolfram being held under Yozak's beefy arm like a football, kicking and screaming.

"Besides, I'm sure he will really enjoy where he's going." More sarcasm.

"Oh?" Conrad said, curious now. "Where is he?"

A casual but self-satisfied shrug. "Apparently, your mother's seamstress fell for that 'free love' philosophy and ran off with the local town mayor. So, they've eloped and are off on their honeymoon. That leaves her old room empty and your mother has graciously decided to redecorate in more masculine colors."

"Poor Wolfram," Conrad sighed. "She's going to redecorate in something more…"

"Fit for a doll?" Yozak finished for him. "Honestly, I think he'd be better off at Gwendal's or the barracks…"

"Or with Yuuri," Conrad suggested.

Yozak lost his smile. Why did Conrad say that? They were having so much fun until he did.

"You sure about that?" he asked with a slight hesitation in his voice. "I always thought that you…kind of…had a thing for him."

Conrad gave a sudden, stern look. Was this another one of his jokes? If so, it was in bad taste, totally uncalled for. Yes, other people within the castle had implied this relationship, and others had out and out said it… But for Yozak, who knew how much his godson meant to him, to bring up such a thing…!

"I love my brother and my godson," Conrad said with head bowed and bangs now covering his eyes, causing shadows. "And, if having them together brings them happiness, I would never stand in the way. If being parted is better, then I will accept it. But I will never…" He glanced around with flashing eyes. "…Ever have Yuuri as anything other than my godson."

The words were rushed as a group of men passed them by in the hallway. Conrad didn't want to be seen arguing with Yozak or to have anything overheard worth becoming gossip fodder.

"I know…but…" Yozak looked away. He couldn't meet eyes with the other, feeling stared down. "It is the way you talk to him... The way you're always touching him on the hand or the arm… Your smile is different. Your voice is different." He put his hands in his pockets. "He's a great kiddo and all. It's understandable because you can't help who you fall for…"

"Enough!" was said in a half-hiss. The anger was like a flash and it almost frightened him—a sensation left over from his war days. Somewhere inside, despite his best efforts, Conrad was suddenly angry. How could Yozak, after everything they'd been through together, question him? There was absolutely no need to. This was pure jealousy and he'd had enough of that to deal with coming from Wolfram over the years. With no one around now, he grabbed the spy's khaki collar, roughly pulling the material closer to him. But, from seeing the expression on the man's face, Conrad's anger slowly melted. Yozak didn't bother to defend himself, arms limply at his sides. Obviously, he was too sure of his facts, so there would be no point in fighting over a "What if?" Worse yet, he was profoundly unhappy. In front of others, he could cover up by appearing stubborn or disinterested. But Conrad could always tell the spy's true feelings. Conrad knew that even if his fears weren't true, they were still very real—and very possible—for Yozak.

This would be the beginning of the end between them if Yozak walked away now. And some part of Conrad didn't want to let go of him. No matter how angry he was, he wanted—no _needed_—to make up. If a battlefield couldn't separate them, then he'd be damned if something like this would.

Brown eyes met sad blue.

Gradually, Conrad let go of the collar and, instead, slid an arm around Yozak's shoulders. This felt right because fighting with Yozak never did. And, by the slight smile in the profile, he could tell the spy wanted to make up with him just as much.

Quietly, he said, "Truth is…even if Yuuri and Wolfram never ever find their way to each other, I could never be with Yuuri. It would destroy Wolfram to see it… and I could never be with someone who reminds me of a little brother." With that, Yozak's shoulders finally relaxed. Conrad leaned against him and continued, "Besides, like I said…he's not my type…"

Blue eyes glanced at him. "Really? And just what is your type?"

Conrad thought about it and cocked his head to one side. "Someone who…plays cards…"

"Can you teach me?" the spy teased.

"Yes, you definitely need a _teacher_," Conrad returned with a knowing wink, "I've bested you too many times."

Blue eyes twinkled. "Then, I'll be a good boy and come to class on time."

"My place? Tonight at eight…with beers?"

A nod. "Yeah."

* * *

Wolfram used the excuse of "unpacking" to skip dinner with the rest of his family. He needed time alone and didn't feel like dressing up just to eat a meal. Besides, it would only be awkward—eating somewhere else at the table other than next to Yuuri. Greta would be there now, as was her right, even though she would prefer her two fathers to be side by side as usual.

The walking stick was propped up in the corner next to a large, red umbrella that Yuuri once had given him. The blond intended to find the right time to give that gift back. He had no need of it and it was awkward to carry both a walking stick and an umbrella.

Wolfram unpacked the first trunk, hanging the shirts, belts, and trousers in the closet. He limped back to the trunk to fetch his new, brown boots. Yes, a maid could have done this. But, after having his privacy violated by Chadwick, Alec, and Gwendal's team of military police, the blond wanted to begin again—to create a sanctuary that was entirely his.

And, by the looks of things, he had a lot to do. With a look of distaste, he surveyed the room briefly before going back to rummaging.

He'd lost track of time doing this. The blond sighed openly and put his hands on his hips, casting a serious eye on the things he possessed. Civilian clothes, that's what he needed more of. He could have something that was courtly but dressed down. Maybe, he could keep the frills and lace but in a more modest scale and style. And, possibly, he'd need some new gowns to wear at night—short for summer and long for winter with the minimalist lace and stitching that he was going for now. Oh, and socks, too… Lately, the bed had been warm and cozy with The Maou sharing it. _But who knows when that will end?_ He shook his head to clear it. No, he had better prepare for the possibility of being alone.

That way, there would be no disappointments.

Wolfram pulled out a well-worn gown and tossed it on the bed along with a robe and a thong. He'd need a bath tonight. Yes, a good soak would be enjoyable once everything was put away. "Now, were did they put that?" Another trunk was opened and the blond rummaged around. Then, straightening up, his eyes spied it. Wolfram reached down and found his small, wooden tub with his bath things in it. The nearest bath was quite a walk from this part of the castle. He would need to change his schedule during the day to make it more convenient to use because walking with the brace could be an irritation on most days. And, the fatigue still got to him.

There was a knock at the door and Wolfram could feel his stomach drop. He did not want visitors right now. But, on the other hand, it might be faster to just deal with whoever it was and send them on their way.

"Yes?" Wolfram said in a weary tone.

"Wolfram?"

Green eyes widened and the blond hobbled quickly to the door. He opened it, curious as to the reason why Gwendal had come to see him at this hour. Usually, he was signing documents, sending off vital messages, or was stuck in budgetary meetings. He rarely left his office and never for trivial matters.

"Brother," Wolfram said in surprise as he opened the door, peering out.

Gwendal practically filled the doorway. "I've come for a brief inspection." He lifted his chin, eyes darting right and left. Wolfram was still short enough that Gwendal could take in most of the room even with a blond little brother standing right in front of him.

A playful smile came to Wolfram's lips as he opened the door wider. "Please come in."

Gwendal entered, noting with a little pleasure that his baby brother was doing all of the unpacking by himself. It meant that he was thinking about his possessions before putting them away. And, beyond that, he always respected self-reliance in others. This was proof that Wolfram could do things when he really had to.

The approval wasn't lost on Wolfram. He held his head a little higher.

Then, Gwendal glanced at the canopy bed and his lips turned down. "Did you decide upon…this?" It was in a waxy blue color with huge, hulking bows on three sides. Handmade lace hung down each of the poles supporting the canopy—creating an elegant look but no real privacy. Thus, in essence, it was fashionable but not practical.

Which was, indeed, the definition of their mother.

"_She_ did this, am I right?"

Wolfram nodded. "The walls aren't to my taste, either."

Gwendal glanced at the walls around them. The tapestries were antique and faded. Two had gold thread in them and images of castles in the sky. They must have been a matching pair based on the artwork and age. The tapestry directly across from the bed was in faded blues, grays, and greens with a yellow-creamy colored border depicting three knights in armor with their swords aloft.

This was absolutely the wrong thing for Wolfram to have in his room, Gwendal agreed. The last thing his brother needed was a reminder of his forced retirement from the military. To wake up to that everyday would be more than unkind. It would be cruel.

"Well, we can sort this out in the days to come…because I will speak with Mother myself on the issue," Gwendal told him. And, to that, Wolfram's face showed relief. Apparently, he wasn't in the mood to debate "fashion" with her.

Unfortunately, Gwendal was prepared to argue on something else entirely.

"There is another issue, though, that I've come to talk to you about," Gwendal began and folded his arms.

Wolfram felt himself gradually bracing for it—whatever _it_ was. "Yes?"

"It's about…" Gwendal steeled himself in return and uttered, "Yuuri Heika."

Now, Wolfram's eyes took on a hard gleam to them. He wasn't a little kid anymore and he didn't appreciate his brother butting in. "And what about him?"

Gwendal coughed into his fist, clearing his voice. "You have to understand, Wolfram, that while we owe Yuuri Heika a great deal, we don't want you to confuse gratitude with…_affection_." He turned to face his brother fully. "He's gone into his 'Maou' form more than once to heal you…and, for that, our family will be eternally grateful, however…"

Wolfram wanted to tap his foot in annoyance but knew his leg wouldn't respond fast enough. "However?" Wolfram parroted with an edge in his voice. He was getting more and more annoyed by the second.

"The paperwork has been completed and I have informed Yuuri Heika that…"

"He's free now," Wolfram finished for him, wanting to cut to the chase. Apparently, the paperwork had been rushed, most likely on Gwendal's part, to save him from more pain. But, nothing could really spare him that. And Yuuri's typical wishy-washy antics at sparing his feelings only had the opposite effects.

"Yes, but there's another problem that has come to my attention."

Wolfram's eyes still held a defensive look to them. He knew that Gwendal wasn't done—not by a long shot. His tone of voice alone told him that much.

"You see, Wolfram, I have received reports that The Maou has been seen coming into your bedroom in the evenings." Gwendal actually bristled at the thought.

Wolfram set his jaw for a moment until the pain started. Grinding his teeth wasn't going to help. "And your point is?"

The response was syruped anger.

"The point," Gwendal returned with more force behind it, "is that you and Yuuri Heika are no longer engaged. And these evening _rendezvous_ will only start more rumors."

Wolfram actually looked into his brother's face and smirked. He knew that The Maou and Yuuri were two different people in the same body. Gwendal, and the rest of the country, didn't. A part of him liked having that secret—having it and making it entirely his own. And even if he let his brother in on the secret, Gwendal wouldn't make it any easier on him because, most likely, there would be no way he would come to believe it. Not to mention, The Maou seemed to have an agenda all his own. And, more times than not, Wolfram found himself unable to sway the kingly spirit.

"Ask me if I care," the blond returned, a hand on his hip and his chin in the air—purposefully trying to make himself come across like a brat. He could be very convincing when he wanted to be. And it was working rather well by the looks of things—by the new wrinkle on Gwendal's forehead.

"Well, I do! Just try to explain to the aristocrats, noble houses, and foreign leaders that our king makes 'nightly visits' to the bed chamber of his former fiancé." Gwendal was looming over Wolfram now, hands itching to throttle some sense into him. "Your reputation is already…"

"A shambles," Wolfram said, straining to keep his voice even. "I know very well what I am." Then, he puffed out his chest a little. "But, as I recall back when I came of age, you told me to 'enjoy youth but be discrete.' Am I remembering that incorrectly, brother?"

"Wolfram!" Gwendal barked. "We're not talking about having endless little flings and puppy love with the youth of the court."

"Some were not quite so youthful," Wolfram murmured to himself and got a heated glare from Gwendal.

"We're talking about The Maou!" he fumed. "The problem with this…this _person_…"

"Our king," Wolfram chimed in spitefully.

"Fine! Our _king_…" Gwendal went on. "Is that he doesn't really love you!" And, then, Gwendal put his hand over his mouth. He had lost his temper and said too much. Every word was the truth, but he knew that it should have been said kindly and with tact. He moved the hand from his mouth to the bridge of his nose, pinching it and doing his best to drive off the headache he knew was coming.

What a cruel thing he'd just done to his baby brother. Brutal.

Gwendal took his hand away, now willing to face what he'd done.

Poor Wolfram.

Instead, the blond simply stood there with his arms folded against his chest. "I know he doesn't love me," Wolfram replied. "In fact, I think a part of me has known from the beginning." But, then, a small smile came to his face as he thought about The Maou. "But his other 'self' is another matter."

"Wolfram!" He narrowed his eyes. "You cannot BED…!" Then, he caught himself and lowered his voice menacingly. "You _cannot_ _bed_ The Maou without consequences."

He gave a boyish shrug in return. "Well, if you're so concerned, Big Brother…you talk to him."

* * *

Six nights had passed without a sign of him, and Wolfram began to wonder if Gwendal had, in fact, found a way to speak to The Maou about their nebulous relationship. He put his book aside and fluffed the pillow next to him. Being alone again wasn't as devastating as he thought it would be. A bit dull sometimes, yes. But there was no deep ache in his heart. The Maou had saved his life twice and had held him when he needed it—each time, all through the night. The smell of Yuuri's skin had been a comfort and the warmth of The Maou in bed made things seem easier, more comfortable.

As though love didn't have to hurt.

_Still…_ The blond pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

"He asked me to love him," Wolfram murmured to himself. "And he seemed so serious. But it's so hard to believe."

Then, the blond raked his fingers through his hair as though that would clear his thoughts. "This is stupid! I keep telling myself that I'm going to start over. I'm going to move forward. But, once again, I'm waiting on someone to…!" He stopped this thought abruptly. He didn't want to say it out loud. He'd had enough of himself and his sudden revelations. Besides, it was late and he needed to just blow out the candle next to him.

End today—

Start again tomorrow—

Begin with a new way of seeing the world. Yes, he'd told himself before that he'd do that. But, this time would be different and, he suspected, it would be uncomfortable—maybe, even painful. But change, real change, was like that.

Wolfram settled down into the sheets, promising himself that he would take charge of his life. And, more importantly, he'd go slow. Jumping into things, like his engagement to Yuuri, only caused him heartache. The engagement had been a mistake and no one, in the beginning, could have predicted it happening. But, if he had been mature at the time, he could have just submitted the appropriate paperwork, instead of participating in the ridiculous duel that the two of them had, and simply walked away from the situation. Instead, he was resentful of the Earth foreigner and curious to see what kind of king Yuuri would turn out to be—mostly to mock him later on to his face. But, much to his regret now, he ended up becoming more and more attached to his king.

And Gwendal had told him often enough that emotional attachments never brought happiness. Not in the long run, they didn't.

_He was right_, Wolfram sighed mentally.

Plus, his own passionate nature was also to blame. Fire wielders were especially well known for their zealousness in matters of romance. Many a tragedy had been written about young fire wielders who had fallen in love with other element wielders, such as wind wielders, who did more than "fan the flames." They "blew out the candle."

Wolfram thought about the imagery and believed that it would make a good, off color "remark" for Conrad to use with Yozak when playing cards.

The blond bishonen settled down into the sheets when a knock came. "Hm?" Wolfram sat up in the bed, noting a blue haze peeking in from under the door. And, in an instant, he knew who it was.

_So, you haven't forgotten about me._

"Please come in," he called, a smile coming to him.

To that, the blue haze snaked up in a soft, gentle spiral and unlocked the door. Seemingly, it opened on its own and a dark figure was framed in the doorway with the bright lights of the hallway lying just beyond.

"My thanks."

Wolfram only needed to point to the candle next to him to have it flicker into life, spreading light into the room. The Maou, wearing Yuuri's black uniform, strode in and looked around with slight curiosity.

"I know," Wolfram sighed with some slight embarrassment behind it, "it's not exactly to my tastes, either. But I decided to take your advice and move. This was the best Mother could do in so short of a time."

"Not much…has changed."

"Changed?" Wolfram said curiously, sitting up cross-legged in the bed. Didn't he just say he moved and the room wasn't his style at all?

"Yuuri Heika journeyed to Earth… 'to think things over' as he called it." The Maou glanced behind him as the door closed all by itself. Then, with nimble fingers, he began to unbutton his black jacket down the front. He gave a "come hither" smile which Wolfram, blushing now, promptly ignored by turning his face away.

"Me thinks Yuuri Heika has…" He searched for a word as he removed the jacket and tossed it carelessly onto the desk. "_Misconceptions_?"

While Wolfram wasn't fond of the jacket throwing, he had to admit that there was something "very Maou" about it—rough but sensuous. Too bad Yuuri could only drop his shirts into a heap on the floor in such an uncouth way. "Oh, he has many things he doesn't understand…" Wolfram grumbled until he realized it. "Wait, is that why I haven't seen you or Yuuri in so long?"

"Assuredly."

The white shirt was being slowly unbuttoned now… And The Maou was glancing at him from the corner of his eye. "Should I…_enlighten_…my other self?" he asked, curious as to what the blond's answer would be. "We have not yet become coupled in the manner he believes."

Wolfram put his elbow on his knee and rested his cheek in his palm. "Yes, I know… I suppose I'd better tell him the truth or he'll stew over it until he comes up with an utterly ridiculous plan to make things better."

"Such as marriage?" A sharply angled eyebrow raised at him with the question.

Wolfram looked him squarely in the eye. He had to because the shirt was off now and The Maou was working on unbuttoning the trousers. "Bind him to me though guilt? I don't think I could live that way…falling asleep each night in the arms of a man who doesn't love me. Nobles are expected to tolerate such things, but Yuuri wasn't raised that way. In the end, he would grow to despise me for bending him to my will, and I would be corrupting the very person I wanted to protect for so long."

Wolfram's face took on the expression of a mourner, the funeral being one in his heart.

The Maou's eyes softened. He had only meant to tease lightly.

Wolfram rubbed his right eye with the heel of his hand. "Sorry about that." It was embarrassing for him to have The Maou witnessing the worst of him. All of his love interests in the past had seen only the best, the brightest "Wolfram" possible until the relationship soured. Wolfram decided to try again and he chose to wear a brighter smile for the one standing there who had such a keen interest in him. Wolfram pulled back the blankets. For, he could see that the spirit was wearing nothing more than Yuuri's black thong. And, he looked most agreeable in it.

Yes, Wolfram would focus on that.

"Ready for bed?" He smiled a little wider and patted the space next to him.

"As always for my bright one," The Maou said as he got in next to Wolfram, tucked the blankets around them both, and took the lithe body in his arms.

"I'll get the candle," the blond said, snapping his fingers and extinguishing the flame. "And, tomorrow, I'll tell Yuuri the truth. Nothing happened between us…me, you, or him."

He rested his head on the pillow. Then, dark hair with the scent of shampoo came close to Wolfram. The smell of coconut had to have been from Yuuri's parents' bath. The blond remembered, from all of those trips to Earth, that Jennifer was particularly fond of tropical coconut in her shampoos and conditioners.

The Maou hummed slightly in Wolfram's ear. "Has thou considered my offer? Could thou accept this heart?" The words were asked without fear. But that was in The Maou's nature.

Wolfram's breath hitched. Was he serious? With all of the trouble that had gone on just from waking up in the mornings…?

Raven locks rubbed sweetly against Wolfram's. "Be mine alone…?"

"I…"

And, then, Wolfram found himself on his back—staring up into the face of The Maou. Even in the dark, he could sense the sincere face followed by the gentle word "please." And, without needing to think, Wolfram clung to him with eyes misting over.

"I will be yours…for as long as you'll have me."

* * *

On this night, Wolfram had somehow managed to have fallen asleep, more or less, on top of The Maou with his head on his shoulder and an arm slung over his chest. And, just as it had been on all of the previous nights, their evening together had been entirely innocent. For, Wolfram still needed time, the spirit believed, to free his heart for love once more. When he looked into Wolfram's soul, even now, he could make out the scars that Yuuri had unintentionally given him. But, the blond was at fault, too, The Maou noted. Stubbornness was one thing, but holding on to the point of pain was going too far. Someone should have told him that and made him see reason.

The Maou pointed to the candle and it flickered into life but with a very dim flame, barely making it possible to see in the room. Then, he pointed to the writing desk, knocking off the black jacket just for the fun of it. Following that, he turned his attention to where Wolfram had his parchment sheets, ink pot, and quill at the ready.

Tomorrow, Wolfram would have a special letter waiting for him—and what a message it would be.

And, moreover, considering the contents, the Maou almost felt sorry for Yuuri Heika.

Almost.

But, then again, that's what the young king deserved. And he was fine with it.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

.

Still half asleep, Wolfram's head rolled heavily to the side and he heard a distinctive crinkling sound. He let out a shuddering breathy-yawn, moved his head back, and the sound returned along with something papery under his cheek.

"Hm?"

Green eyes squinted with annoyance.

"Something?"

He cut his eyes to the right. Sure enough, Yuuri was lying peacefully next to him—seemingly pleased with the warmth of the bed and who he was next to. Wolfram, still in a fog, blinked around until the piece of parchment left on his pillow caught his notice. It was there, sealed in red wax, with the words, "For my Bright One and his house."

"Oh Hell!"

The blond sat up erect in the bed holding the letter in his hands. He was suddenly _very_ awake and breathing harder than he'd expected. There was almost a sense of dread from it, too. The Maou had something planned. Didn't he always? And Wolfram was beginning to see a pattern with him. The Maou made the rules—made the decisions. And, unlike Yuuri, whom he could always argue with, The Maou was not only powerful but set in his ways. Defying him wasn't an option. Though, the blond was certain that if he had set a limit of some sort and truly meant "no" the spirit would back down and allow him to have things his way. The problem was that Wolfram had to pick his battles. With Yuuri, it wasn't that way. The other problem was that Yuuri and The Maou shared the same body.

Green eyes turned to the sleeping form beside him. If The Maou wrote this—and meant whatever was inside—did Yuuri know? Wolfram bet he didn't. Just something within him told him that. Instinct. That's what it was.

Wolfram turned the letter over in his hands. Maybe, this was what Yuuri felt those times he had left letters behind. Maybe, this was why he appeared so irritated. It wasn't out of affection or concern. It just aggravated him not to know.

Wolfram could understand that now. If he'd intended to write a proper "goodbye" letter to Yuuri, then it should have been kept in private—one letter total—and left with Gwendal or, to please Yuuri, his godfather, Conrad. Then, he would have been able to say his final goodbyes in a way that brought no pain, no memories, no sadness. And, as he'd wished, Wolfram could have faded from Yuuri's sight without him noticing.

He'd done things so very wrong from the start.

Wolfram sighed, pushed back the covers, and got out of bed. He would read the letter after taking his bath. (After all, bad news could wait.) And, then, he'd face the day, and his family, with whatever The Maou had planned. But this was something he could do and he was strong enough to handle it all.

Keep going-

Keep moving forward-

He was determined to see things through simply because he could. And he didn't want any help while he was doing it.

* * *

Wolfram picked at the plate set before him. The eggs smelled wonderful but, on this morning, didn't appeal. The toast was even less so. And the fruit tart, which would have been his favorite, simply sat there with the lemon icing dripping sadly off of it.

"So, what is this 'family meeting' that I hear you've called?" Gwendal said bitterly, not even two minutes through the door with Yuuri, Conrad, Günter, and Lady Cheri all in tow. They were surprised by the unexpected tone that Gwendal was taking with Wolfram so early in the morning. Usually, if something rubbed him the wrong way, he would grumble to himself until after his second cup of coffee. But, evidently, not today.

"I did, Big Brother."

Then, Greta and Anissina entered the room with Gwendal complaining at the table, "Then, just tell it to us now and drop the drama." With that, and the comment of "Men!" which sounded more like a curse word, Anissina placed an arm around Greta's shoulders and escorted her out of the room with a quick, "We're eating breakfast in the rose garden this morning," to Doria.

Yuuri watched the rapid retreat of Anissina and Greta with a nervous sweatdrop forming. If the castle's inventor was going to escort Greta out of a room after hearing a single comment, then this situation was probably going to boil over pretty quickly. He put a hand to his head. This morning was difficult enough after waking up alone in Wolfram's bed wearing nothing but a thong. And, then, for some reason, Günter intruded upon him to start the day—without knocking—saw his "state of undress," had a massive nosebleed, and, after that, needed help getting to the infirmary to recover.

And, now, there was this…

"Well?" Gwendal asked impatiently as a plate of food, an extra large coffee mug, and a bowl of sugar cubes were placed before him. Conrad, after seating his mother at the table, took a chair for himself, but gave Wolfram an uncertain look as he did so.

Yuuri noticed green eyes glancing at him and then to Günter.

"This can wait a little while." Wolfram forced himself to take another bite of dry toast. It was scratching his throat, but he didn't care.

"Go ahead and tell, Wolfie," Lady Cheri urged with a reassuring smile. "We're a family and we can talk about anything." She turned her gaze to Yuuri and, then, she repeated in a sexier tone, "And I do mean _anything_."

Wolfram bit his lower lip with frustration. Apparently, anyone in his family could call a private, "family meeting" except him. And it pissed him off. His right hand itched to make fire, but he held back. If he wanted to be treated with respect, he was going to have to force them to see him as a serious person and not "Little Lord Brat."

"Fine, then," Wolfram said as evenly as he could, trying his best not to glance at Yuuri who was a few chairs away. "I was hoping to discuss this after we eat but…"

"Well?" Lady Cheri said with hands clasped to her ample bosom. "What's the news?" Her blond ringlets bounced, showing her enthusiasm.

Even Conrad raised a curious eyebrow.

Carelessly, Wolfram tossed a piece of unfolded parchment in Gwendal's direction. The letter landed open and exposed in the middle of the table, black ink scrawled beautifully across the page—truly a piece of artwork in itself.

Without changing his expression in the slightest, Gwendal picked it up and began to read. But, as he did so—his eyes moving, reading, and rereading passages—he began to grow red in the face. His eyes squinted angrily.

Gwendal slammed his fist down on the table and everything shook. Yuuri was taken aback and leaned away from the wobbling, clattering collection of china and silver bric-a-brac which lay before him.

"Gwendal!" Lady Cheri scolded. She wagged a finger.

"This cannot be serious, Wolfram!" Gwendal's voice hit a more threatening pitch as he looked up from the letter again.

"It is," Wolfram returned, clinching his hand under the table so that no one would notice. This was The Maou's will and Wolfram felt that he was taking the heat alone. It wasn't fair. But, then again, if he did go along with it, he would have a lot to answer for. So, maybe, this was a necessary trial by fire.

"There is no way!" Gwendal fumed, tossing the letter carelessly to Günter as though he needed a second opinion.

Wolfram didn't consider Günter as "family," which was why he wanted to have the "family" meeting in private. But, now, the adviser was involved and it couldn't be helped that his brother had handed the letter over in disgust.

Günter opened the letter and glanced at the contents. "Oh, how beautiful! The penmanship! The word usage!" He continued on with nods and more nods as his eyes glazed over in appreciation. "Yes, yes…just as I've always known. The Maou uses Old High Mazoku of the Northumbrian dialect. Most likely, the tongue spoken by Shinou's great-grandfather." He smiled with satisfaction.

"Is that why he's so hard to understand?" Yuuri said as a little joke.

Wolfram shot him a sour glance and Lady Cheri pretended a quick giggle would be cute. Gwendal coughed into his fist to bring everyone's attention back to the subject at hand. "The letter, Günter! Look at what it says! You do not have to be a literary scholar to understand the meaning of it."

"Oh, that…" Günter went over the words again and gave a vague shrug. "It's your basic marriage proposal." But, in the next second, Yuuri found himself taken out of his chair and crushed to the white-caped adviser's chest. "Oh, but you've just ended your engagement to Little Lord Brat! Can't you see that this is not the way?"

"E-Engagement?" Yuuri choked out, trying to breathe despite the crushing hug.

"Yes!" Gwendal said, getting up from his chair, making Conrad and Wolfram do the same just in case Yuuri needed rescuing. "Only, this time, it's The Maou who wants the royal wedding!"

"The Maou?" Lady Cheri squealed with excitement, getting exactly what she wanted for her Wolfie and enjoying every second of it. "Yes, a royal wedding with The Maou! He's the dark side of Yuuri Heika and he would be just perfect! That way," she said, going over to Yuuri and tickling him seductively under his chin with a single, well sculpted fingernail, "my Wolfie will be taken care of…in every way."

"An engagement? So, everything is back to the way it was?" Conrad asked the room and Wolfram folded his arms against his chest, knowing this wasn't exactly true.

Yuuri swallowed thickly and slowly disentangled himself from Günter. "The Maou…a wedding…? With him? I…I…uh…I mean…" He put a hand to his head. Yuuri almost instantly flashed back to The Maou telling him "And, this night, I shall take what was once thine!"

It was Wolfram. He took Wolfram to be his. And, now, he wished to marry him.

Almost in a daze, Yuuri went back to the table and took his seat, knowing everyone else would do the same. Even Wolfram followed his king's example dutifully. And, now that he was seated, he had to think. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be a way where he could stop or delay this wedding until he had the time—the chance—to get back with Wolfram. If they could just find a way to each other again, the double black knew that they would both find happiness. And, now that he was thinking about it, was it really a woman he wanted to be married to? Or was it that he wanted a marriage like the one his parents had? Sure, they argued. But they made up, too. His mother wasn't your typical mother. Then again, Wolfram wasn't your typical…_someone_. Shiny blond hair. Deep, penetrating green eyes. A lithe but well sculpted body from decades of swordplay. He was far prettier than any girl Yuuri'd ever seen, could wield fire with deadly force, and spoke his mind with a kind of deep-running zeal and with a loyalty that was unmatched.

Never did he ever imagine having to share Wolfram with anyone—including The Maou. And, these past mornings, he'd tolerated waking up with no memory as to how he got there (not to mention his embarrassing state of undress). But, what he knew now was that he wanted Wolfram by his side. To have Wolfram look at no one else but him. So, in these precious seconds, Yuuri would have to think of a way to keep Wolfram by his side. For, this kind of thing couldn't go on.

It just couldn't.

Wolfram was slipping away.

Black eyes turned to him, hoping to see some kind of response. Some kind of tenderness that once was there.

"So, Wolfram," Gwendal pressed. "What do you intend to do about this?" He gestured to the letter that was back on the table.

"I intend to say…_no_."

Raven eyes widened in surprise. And Yuuri couldn't help himself when his jaw fell a little. It was a "no" and it would buy him some time but…

"Wolfram, are you sure?" Conrad asked carefully, shifting his attention from his brother to Yuuri and back again. "You've always been so adamant."

"What are you saying, Conrad?" Gwendal gruffed, shifting in his chair. "We've finally got Wolfram to see reason, to walk away from this horrible 'engagement' business, and, now, you question his decision?"

As his brothers debated the pros and cons, as well as his past behavior towards Yuuri, Wolfram grew more certain of his choice. He had caused his king a lot of trouble. He'd embarrassed himself in the process and, worse yet, he'd embarrassed Yuuri in front of his family, the court, and the kingdom. Wolfram replayed his past mistakes in his mind and wondered, _What did I get from this?_

In the end, he got a marriage proposal—a real one—from The Maou, not from Yuuri.

Life could be unpredictable. He accepted that now.

The ex-prince glanced around the table, not really listening to what people were saying. They all believed that The Maou was part of Yuuri, his "other self" as people referred to him. So, it was a matter of splitting hairs, legally, if a royal wedding did happen. But, Wolfram knew better. In his heart, he wondered if Yuuri saw things that way, too. Or, did Yuuri know the truth as he did. Maybe, Yuuri didn't even care as long as everyone got along well.

He lowered his eyes.

_The Wimp…_

Wolfram glanced up when the room grew quiet again. Everyone was staring at him, expecting an explanation. Of course, they would. Okay, he'd give them one.

"Each one of us, in our lifetime, has looked for love." Wolfram's eyes lingered a little longer on Gwendal than usual. And, Yuuri suddenly realized that Gwendal, at some point, had wanted someone in his life to remain by his side. Evidently, it didn't happen.

"And some of us have found it," the blond said, briefly glancing at Conrad. Then, he turned to his mother with a thin smile. "Some of us are still searching for it."

Going back to Gwendal, Wolfram went on, "If I wed The Maou as he wishes, Yuuri will never be able to marry. You know that as well as I do."

All eyes shifted to the double black, making him shrink back into the chair. And Wolfram, seeing this, found it profoundly unfair. All of Yuuri's reactions were true to his heart. If he was happy, he smiled. If he was sad, he cried. If something made him wary or miserable, there was no hiding it.

Wolfram knew that only he could hide such feelings—redefine them, disguise them as anger.

Wolfram looked to Yuuri again but with compassion.

"Shouldn't we allow him that same chance that we had?" Wolfram asked everyone. "Shouldn't we give him the choice…the freedom to find the person he truly wants?" Wolfram smiled to himself because he knew he was right. For once, he was absolutely spot on. "Let him live. Let his heart get broken a time or two."

"_Wolfram_," Conrad sighed, knowing his baby brother was correct but, at the same time, hating the torment he had to go through in order to change his views on Yuuri.

Green eyes grew dim. "If I give him his freedom, I will give freedom to myself as well. So, that is why I cannot marry The Maou."

Gwendal nodded, rubbing his chin in thought. He was curious to see if Wolfram would really give up Yuuri after loving him for so long. There had to be something else, though…

"But I won't refuse him…if he comes to my chamber."

Wolfram had said it in such a way that it surprised even him. In essence, he was standing up for himself and his relationship with The Maou even in the face of disapproval. But he didn't care. No apologies. This was the path he wanted to take.

"What?" Gwendal's eyebrows pushed together.

"The Maou," Wolfram clarified. "Should he come to me, return to me… I won't refuse him. I will be his."

Yuuri's eyes bulged wide and grew even wider after receiving the abrupt, heated death-glare coming from Gwendal. Even Conrad gave him a bizarre look he couldn't decipher and that was disconcerting in itself.

"You're no better than Mother!" Gwendal boomed, which got a pouty frown from Lady Cheri. Wolfram visibly bristled but forced himself to stay calm. He folded his arms against his chest and crossed his legs casually.

"I will be his…no matter the cost. But I will not marry him."

"Well, actually…Wolfie," Lady Cheri said lightly, "one has to be careful with love affairs. Free love is wonderful but…"

"Mother!" Gwendal barked. "He's talking about becoming a concubinus!" He pointed a finger at the blond fire Mazoku in much the same way a lawyer would do in a trial. "The innocent, free love of youth is one thing, but consider what he would be giving up in order to become The Maou's plaything!"

Gwendal lost his temper and the room shook from his earth wielding magic.

With that, three members of the kitchen staff, who had been standing at the ready—hoping to serve the juice, fruit, and baked ham—bustled back into the safety of kitchen.

Yuuri was confused but gathered this was bad. "C-Concubinus?"

"A male concubine," Günter translated.

"There hasn't been a concubinus in the castle since…" He turned his narrow eyes back to Lady Cheri and she, in turn, blushed and looked away. "Oh, never mind! But, the point of it is that no one from the House of von Bielefeld has ever been one! You, at best, will lose your title, name, and inheritance."

"I know," Wolfram returned with a gentle smile coming to him.

Yuuri blanched at this and leaned across the table in Wolfram's direction, concerned about him. "You don't have to, Wolf. It's okay. Let's calm down and think about this a little more." He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably and went on, "Why don't we just go back to the way things were before? Or, better yet, start over. It would be great if we did." That last part was what Yuuri really wanted.

Wolfram looked at him evenly. "We can't. I don't belong to you anymore."

"But, Wolf," Yuuri said, tilting his head to the side, wondering what he could do to fix the situation.

"I do ask for a few things, though." Wolfram's shoulders stiffened as he wondered what would be agreed to and what wouldn't. "I hope that I can still see Greta…even if it's in private with no one noticing. And, even with my title and my family name gone, I hope I can remain here, peacefully, to please The Maou." Then, in Yuuri's direction, he said, "Any marriage contract you make in the future will have to spell out the situation that your darker half has a _half-husband_ and you will, on some mornings, wake up in my bed."

Gwendal balked at the open and suggestive language that usually came from his mother. How could his sweet baby brother be so crude as to use the rough, low class Mazoku term "half-husband?" It made him sick inside.

"I agree with Yuuri. Don't you want to rethink this, Wolfram?" Conrad asked. "Take time to think about all you will be losing?"

Wolfram shook his head "no." "Why The Maou would want such a broken thing as me…I'll never understand." He could feel the tightness of the brace around his leg and the aches in his body from the torments he had suffered. "Still, I'm glad he does. And, just as any loyal citizen of Shin Makoku would, I find it an honor to be his. In fact, I had planned to marry Yuuri and belong to both sides of his personality. Instead, I will belong to just one." With a tender smile, he said, "So, I will humbly accept half of his heart with utmost gladness."

* * *

Instead of going to lessons with Gunther or taking tea with Greta in the garden—things he usually did on a Thursday—Yuuri found himself in The Grand Ballroom, kicking his feet outwardly in a distracted kind of march as he idly made his way to the balcony. Once there, the double black leaned on the railing, allowing the wind to comb his hair.

At the edge of the nearby garden, Wolfram had made it to his favorite apple tree. He was sitting all alone at the base of the tree, had a book placed on his lap, and his head was tilted at an angle—the one that usually told Yuuri that the blond was sound asleep.

"You say that you will belong to him," Yuuri murmured, "but you never once mentioned what you loved most about The Maou. You only accepted what you'd be giving up in order to be loved."

Yuuri straightened up, his eyes not leaving the sleeping blond.

"I know you're watching and I know you're listening, Maou," Yuuri said out loud. "So, then, I guess you know that I…_love_ Wolfram…in my own wimpy, pathetic, easily embarrassed way." He turned to go back inside. "But, that's how I am and, as you've probably already figured out, I will do things my own way…even if Wolfram has decided to switch to you."

Yuuri went through the castle, down a flight of stone stairs, and made it out into the fresh, open air. He walked to where Wolfram was and quietly sat down next to him.

He remembered studying that wealthy men and monarchs had concubines in Japanese and Chinese history. They were status symbols, arm candy—and much more than that in the bedroom. The very thought of Wolfram lowering himself and becoming a concubinus was unbelievable. The idea of Wolfram simply waiting each day to be The Maou's unmarried companion, only good enough to become entangled in the sheets with made the double black sick inside. Wolfram was so much more than that. So much more than a beautiful body to warm a bed.

Still, this whole situation held implications for him, too. Everyone now knew that the engagement was over but that he could not let go of Wolfram. And, with Wolfram's offer put in place of the royal marriage he'd always longed for…

Yuuri lowered his head as he took Wolfram's hand. He laced fingers with him and the blond smiled in his sleep.

"We'll find a way to make things right, Wolf. We will…"

Black locks nuzzled against blond affectionately.

"I promise you."


	16. Chapter 16

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Chapter 16

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Almost a week had passed and Yuuri had noticed more than a few unexpected changes going on in his life. Wolfram no longer ate his meals with him. Instead, his chair was gone and Greta was seated next to him. No one commented about it. Instead, they went on as though this was the most natural thing in the world. Back at his parents' house, if Shori didn't show up for a meal, everyone said something—even when Yuuri wished that they wouldn't.

He no longer saw Wolfram in the hallway or in the rose garden. And his room, now, was on the opposite side of the castle.

Lady Cheri was busy, too, he was told. Apparently, she'd brought in a team of seamstresses to work overtime on her "little projects." Yuuri suspected it had something to do with the bedroom that Wolfram and his brothers thought inappropriate in some way. The double black shuddered when he tried to picture exactly what the three of them thought of as "inappropriate." The four walls, bed, desk, and rug seemed okay to him when he woke up.

Yes, woke up…in Wolfram's bed.

"Wolfram…"

The double black put a hand to his head as he walked out into the sunshine. It was too bright today. The sky was so blue, it hurt to look at it.

Squinting, he followed a path around to a small, white table and chairs set up near the Royal Greenhouse. The tall, lavender shrub roses here had a pleasant scent to them and they provided more privacy than the rose garden to the east. Yuuri had come here with a specific purpose in mind. He'd managed to corner a young page who knew the whereabouts of a certain blond fire wielder. And Yuuri had no intention of letting the chance pass him by.

Sure enough, Wolfram was still taking his tea.

Slightly startled, the blond put the delicate, white china cup down on its saucer when he saw Yuuri coming. A few drops of the brown liquid fell onto the tablecloth, seeping in almost instantly.

"Y-Yuuri," Wolfram said, following the double black king with his eyes. Then, he glanced around them as though something was terribly wrong—scandalous even—about this situation.

Yuuri chuckled to himself and shoved his hands in his pockets. This reminded him of the time he and his middle school friend, Yoshi-kun, had sneaked peeks at a Penthouse magazine in a 7-11 convenience store.

"Yeah, Wolf. It's me." His smile widened a little. Without asking, he took the opposite chair and Wolfram straightened up in his own as a result. "So, Wolf, I was wondering if you were feeling okay."

The blond colored at the question. His face turned an odd shade of scarlet, clashing with the roses. "…Not a good question to ask out loud…" he returned tersely.

"Why not?" Now, Yuuri was curious.

Instantly losing his temper, Wolfram put both palms on the table and leaned over in Yuuri's direction with a "You can be so incredibly stupid" expression on his face. He was about to mouth the words when he overheard, from the opposite side of the hedge, his brother and Yozak joking with each other.

"Of course, Conrad. Dinner sounds good… What do you want to have?"

Wolfram, instead of continuing, felt his anger towards Yuuri waning. There was no point in correcting the double black. That was a fiancé's job or an adviser's. Instead, he'd just have to do a better job of avoiding Yuuri in the future.

Wolfram picked up a small spoon and gave his stone cold tea a stir.

"Well, I mean…" Yuuri went on, not understanding anything that just happened, "…you didn't show up to the wine tasting party last night…not that I like that kind of thing, either…" He laughed a bit nervously, hand behind his head. "…And I thought that you didn't feel well or something."

Actually, it was really the "or something" part which had his curiosity piqued.

Wolfram gave him a vague shrug and said simply, "I wasn't invited."

Yuuri laughed at Wolfram, leaning back in the chair comfortably with arms folded against his chest. "Oh, come on, Wolf. This is your home." He gestured towards the magnificent castle. "You don't need an engraved invitation to go to a party in your own place."

This time, Wolfram simply blinked at him. Did he really not understand that the circumstances between them had changed that much? Günter really wasn't doing his job, then.

"Yuuri," the blond began, trying his best to phrase things the proper way, "I'm not the sort of person you can invite to such parties anymore." He put the cup to his lips and took a sip, trying not to show how stale the tea tasted now.

"Why?"

Wolfram sighed and put the cup down. "Because…I belong to The Maou now. And, as everyone here sees you and The Maou as two sides of the same coin…and The Maou being a very primal, very intense…_sensuous_…"

Yuuri put a hand up to stop him. He'd gotten the gist of it. "I know, Wolf, but…"

"And, being a concubinus means that any particular time you and I are together…or whenever I'm with The Maou, people will think that I will be in the act of gentle seduction …sometimes against your better judgment with regard to time and place."

Black eyes widened impossibly. "Eh?"

"Didn't you know, Yuuri?" Wolfram said in a deadpan but, on the inside, he was loving this moment of toying with the double black. "As a concubinus, I know all kinds of sexual secrets…to make you crave me." Then, he burst out laughing in a boyish way. He continued to laugh and, when tears came, wiped his eyes. It was so stupid and Yuuri, idiot that he was, was following every word as though it were the complete and total truth. It was only when he could no longer hold the mirth in, and started laughing, that Yuuri could see that it was a tall tale indeed.

The blond continued to chuckle and wipe his eyes as he said, "Well, that's what the royal court will think. After all, our engagement is over. The Maou wanted to marry me and I said 'no.' But, now, I'm a concubinus—_his_ concubinus."

"Well, I don't care what the court thinks," Yuuri returned with a pout, feeling that Wolfram was laughing at him. And he was.

The blond turned away from his tea to give Yuuri his full attention now. "I suppose Günter hasn't fully informed you of the delicate circumstances now. So, I will."

Yuuri, still pouting, looked at him.

"Gwendal and my uncle have been sending messages back and forth. And, I must admit, we were surprised by the negotiations…which went surprisingly well, actually. Once I settle things with my uncle, I will officially be given to The Maou as a representative of the House of Bielefeld with the understanding that he will keep me by his side until the end of my life."

"Sounds like a marriage to me," Yuuri said, not liking the idea of Wolfram belonging to The Maou at all.

"Marriage is between two individuals who are capable of being married due to rank or other supporting circumstances which make them deemed worthy." He looked at his cup of tea. A lavender petal from one of the roses had drifted down into the cup, sailing lazily. "According to my last message with my uncle, he is fine with handing me over to The Maou as long as my status as his companion never changes and that this is signed over as a recognized, legal arrangement…forming a direct and lasting connection with the throne."

Yuuri's face slowly clouded with anger, making Wolfram slightly bewildered. "Are you telling me that he'd gladly hand you over to a king so that he would have some kind of political advantage?"

Wolfram shrugged a "yes." "Of course. Didn't you ever wonder why he never objected to our engagement…even though he never respected you?"

Yuuri frowned even further. _That "respect" part was a little harsh_, he thought.

The blond glanced around to make sure they were alone before speaking further. Then, in a lower voice, he said, "But, Yuuri…you and I both know that you and The Maou are different people…different _souls_. Even if everyone else sees it another way, we both know how things really stand."

That took Yuuri's breath away. He knew. Yes, of course he did. But he always assumed that this was his secret to keep. Everyone saw The Maou as a powerful, almost brutally ruthless being in search of delivering "justice" to those in need of it. And, often, Wolfram would refer to The Maou as "Yuuri."

He gave the blond a searching look. Did Wolfram piece it together for himself or did The Maou do it when he confessed his feelings?

"I want you to be happy," Wolfram reminded him as he stood from his chair, indicating that, without a doubt, this was the conclusion to this discussion. He picked up his walking stick, saying, "And, in the end, I believe everything will work out. In time, it will become normal…just a 'new normal.' That's all."

Yuuri stood, too, and took Wolfram's free hand, startling him a little. But then Wolfram reminded himself that this gesture was innocent. Once again, Yuuri didn't grasp the meaning of what he was doing and should be forgiven.

"Then, if you want me to be happy, you'll come to your mother's supper party on Friday. She's celebrating some minor saint and has invited a lot of people to come."

Wolfram smiled awkwardly at the words, glanced down at their laced fingers and said, "Not exactly a saint… It's a feast day, though. My ancestor, Rufus, who fought along side Shinou was given her own day of celebration."

Returning the smile, Yuuri fell in step with Wolfram as he limped towards the castle. "Oh? And why is that?"

_Yes, be with him. Keep him talking. Keep his attention on me… I really want that now. I really want to start over._

An awkward pause was followed by, "Her gift to the king, of course."

_A gift?_ Now, as a good, young Japanese, he understood the need for gift giving and exchanges. Such things built goodwill. And, even in Shin Makoku, there seemed to be that same need—to give tokens to express feelings and establish relationships. He should definitely give Wolfram something in the future.

"And what, exactly, did she give?"

Green eyes sparkled a little. "Her first born son."

* * *

It was a lavish party by Yuuri's standards: eight tables of gourmet food and drinks, ten candelabras, tall bouquets of flowers in each of the four corners of the room, garlands, black and silver ribbons and streamers, and some of the most beautiful iridescent candles he'd ever seen—giving the room an intimate, flickering blue color once lit.

He had Conrad following faithfully at a polite distance. Gwendal and Günter were trying to talk business, enjoy their drinks, and watch the drinks table for the usual rowdy, or rather "unusually cheerful" nobles, who seemed to haunt that particular place. And even Anissina came. She was dressed nicely in dark mulberry and cream silks and lace. While attending seemed a nice gesture on her part, Yuuri suspected it was more because Anissina was going to hit her brother up for a larger allowance to finance her latest invention.

Somewhere among the general murmur of the assembled, Lady Cheri's tinkling laugh carried. Yuuri glanced casually in the direction he thought it had come from only to catch a glimpse of Wolfram amid the crowd. Like a deer among the trees, he was there one moment and gone the next.

Yuuri craned his neck to see better, but the blond was gone.

"Is there something?" Conrad asked from behind, curious to see what had gotten Yuuri's attention.

"I…uh…"

Was this really something he wanted to share with his godfather? Especially since he supported the engagement being called off?

"Heika? Oh, Heika?"

Yuuri smiled in relief, thankful for the distraction, when two young Mazoku women came up to him from both his right and his left almost as though a choreographer had planned it.

"Yuuri Heika, hello!" They both curtsied while giving their greetings, their low cut necklines showing ample cleavage threatening to tumble out. "It is a fine evening," the first one remarked, taking out her white lace fan and fanning herself with it casually. "Oh, yes… fine, fine!" the second one agreed before Yuuri could say anything. The first one leisurely took in the crowd around them, revealing her long neckline—which most Mazokus would find more than tempting. Out of the corner of her eye, she peeked to see if he had noticed. "I was wondering…Where's Princess Greta?" The second woman chimed in, not to be outdone, "Yes, I remember her so well."

"A sweet girl."

"Very…takes after her father…such good manners…"

"Now, where could she be?" The first was fanning her neckline now…and going a bit further down as the seconds ticked on.

Knowing how wild Lady Cheri's drinking parties could be, Yuuri had been schooled in how to answer this question. "She's having her own little party. She's not of age yet, you know." Then, he looked closer at the two brunettes in front of him. Come to think of it, they were both barely of age for Mazokus. And, from the way they eyed him, he wondered vaguely if it really was really his daughter they were interested in.

Yuuri scratched his cheek in thought. Yes, it was possible for people to like him for his own unique qualities. But these girls were so _obvious_. They really had their designs set on him, didn't they? _Wolfram, at times, had been right,_ the double black admitted inwardly. _I just didn't want to hear it coming from him._

He was about to make an excuse to leave when a blond entered their little circle and Yuuri's face brightened. It was Amanda.

"Yuuri Heika!" she almost squealed, bustling her way in with a little shake of the hips. Her dress was silver and the blue sash accentuated her slim waistline. The other two didn't like it, but decided to stay anyway to catch the young king's attention once more and to flatter him if they could. "It's nice to see you…_again_."

"Hello, Amanda." Yuuri gave a polite bow and she returned it with a curtsey.

"It's wonderful to be invited back for the night." Amanda smiled demurely into her wine glass. The other two girls visibly bristled. Did Yuuri Heika already have plans to be with her? And exactly what did she mean by "for the night" anyway? True, she resembled the king's ex-fiancé. But, that engagement had been ended—in a way—and a proper "queen" would be sought after; for Yuuri Heika, as everyone knew by now, preferred women. Current gossip held that Wolfram von Bielefeld was only kept as a concubinus out of pity—to keep a political link to the throne for the sake of Waltorana von Bielefeld.

In time, Yuuri Heika, in much the same way as the kings who came before him, would grow tired of the farce and toss aside Wolfram, the pretender, for good. Everyone knew that.

So, now, the double black had three gorgeous women standing before him, vying for attention, and Conrad covering his back. The double black, though, couldn't help but feel cornered. Some part of him felt like looking for an escape route.

Yuuri glanced over Amanda's shoulder and caught another brief glimpse of Wolfram carrying two full glasses of champagne. Escape sounded good. Better yet, now, Yuuri was certain where he was going.

Absently, he asked Amanda, "Did Lady Cheri invite you to stay in her quarters again? That's nice of her. I mean, as a way to celebrate Rufus' feast."

Amanda's smile almost faltered. While it was true, she didn't want the women next to her to know too much, she did want a "certain something" to be part of the atmosphere—a kind of budding attachment. But, Yuuri wasn't playing along and she really wanted him, whether he fully realized it or not, to imply that he liked her, too—just a little bit more than he did for these two lesser nobles.

So, all she could return with was "Yes, very nice of her."

Amanda looked into Yuuri's face and realized, suddenly, that he was not paying the least bit of attention to her. Her hair could have been on fire and he wouldn't have noticed at all.

"And, I really must go," Yuuri told them with a sheepish grin. "It's been fun talking to the three of you." And, with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd. Conrad followed, taking long strides.

The women all glanced at each other and, for a second, wore the same frustrated expression. Then, accepting their fate, they slipped on their masks of social politeness and went their separate ways. After all, the night was young and there were many people to meet and greet.

As Yuuri made his way for the far right corner of the room, he noticed the sound of Lady Cheri's voice getting louder and louder. She was certainly enjoying herself with a glass of champagne in her hand. An almost embarrassing number of nobles were crowding around her—fawning over her and competing for attention, male voices all jumbled together. At first, the double black felt sorry for her. He could empathize with her situation. Without Conrad, he would probably have a bigger problem with crowds than he already did. But, then, he looked at the situation again. Half of the men were practically drooling over _her_ and another group, right next to it, had focused entirely on…_Wolfram_.

The young, blond fire wielder was dressed in a midnight blue coat that was loosely cut in the "von Bielefeld-style" and hung knee length. The matching breeches were skin tight and hugged his lithe body well. The light charcoal grey silk cravat was loosely tied at the throat, adding a hint of sparkle to him. But, what almost floored Yuuri was the jet black collar. Wolfram never wore black. In the beginning, Yuuri thought he must have hated the color because he would always sputter and make nonsensical sounds whenever his mother coyly suggested that he wear it. Yuuri never pursued the matter. But, later, he learned that by wearing black, he was telling the kingdom that he belonged to Shin Makoku's king.

_He probably felt that he didn't deserve it,_ Yuuri thought.

"Oh, I would like to try my luck with him next!" a young, red haired Mazoku with orange eyes called out to the group, taking up the cup and dice. He looked at Wolfram meaningfully and said, "I think I can best you."

Taking a sip of his champagne, Wolfram gave his mother a brief glance and she met it. Wolfram's eyes seemed to say, "This guy is a loser" and her smile showed she agreed with him.

"Be good to my Wolfie," and she wagged a finger at the young man.

"Yeah, right!" someone in the group laughed back and the rest of the rowdy crowd followed.

Yuuri saw Wolfram's face remain placid and that pissed him off. The "Wolfram" that he knew would fight back. He wouldn't put himself through this and he wouldn't allow anyone else to face this harassment, either. A firestorm would be the most likely result.

"A three and a four," Wolfram noted as he inspected the dice. In unison, everyone around the table looked down, too. Yes, it certainly was and, with a wicked smile, Wolfram took the dice and placed them back into the silver cup. He gave a generous shake saying, "Oh, don't feel so bad about it. Seven is a lucky number." Wolfram gave the little group a sexy smile and Yuuri watch them practically melt. It made no sense to him. One minute, they were insulting and the next…

"Snake eyes!" the group shouted, catching brief glares from the rest of the room.

The blond gathered the dice. "Doubles means I can roll again…" Then, he wet his lips and gave the group around him an almost come hither look. "And I am quite fond of…snake eyes…"

"_W-h-o-a_!" The crowd roared, catching the innuendo. Yuuri got it, too, but didn't like it at all. True, Wolfram had warned him—had told him what a concubinus was thought of in Shin Makoku. But he couldn't stand this abrupt change and he decided not to put up with it any longer.

Stepping forward from the edge of the crowd that was making its way to the dance floor, Yuuri walked up to them with what he hoped to be a very adult, very business-like expression. It was the same attitude he carried into heavy negotiations these days. Gwendal had schooled him on that part and it got things off and running much faster than entering with a cheery, "Hi, guys!"

"Yuuri!" Wolfram said incredulously and the group around him easily drifted away—suddenly hungry, thirsty, or wanting to dance with someone. But there were those who waited, hidden among the crowds. They were curious, wanting to see what the two of them would do in public. King Yuuri and his concubinus together at the same event bordered on the scandalous. Surely, because they were seen together, everyone thought they would have mind-blowing sex tonight. And, by this point, word had gotten around that Wolfram had moved into a room on the opposite side of the castle. Obviously, he was the sort of concubinus who couldn't keep his voice down.

"Wolfram," Yuuri said as his eyes drifted to Lady Cheri and her group. He wondered if she was really chaperoning him properly or not. _Probably… not._

Yuuri decided that he couldn't leave Wolfram's welfare to her any longer.

"I was wondering, Wolf, if you'd like to dance?" This, Yuuri knew, was something that Wolfram wanted badly. In the beginning, he had complained numerous times that they never danced together and that people pointed out that fact. Twice recently, he was pressured to do it out of protocol. But Wolfram noticed the sense of obligation and, quickly, left his side for the rest of the evening only to return to their bedroom out of sorts and half-drunk.

"I…_can't_," Wolfram said, putting emphasis in his words—hoping to convey meaning without having to spell it out and be overheard. "You might be better off dancing with…" Green eyes searched desperately until they landed on Conrad. "Conrad, could you dance with Yuuri…or find someone else who is free? With my _leg_, dancing isn't really an option."

Conrad, much to Yuuri's total astonishment, actually agreed to it. "I think that would be wise." He went on cheerfully, "Come this way."

"Wait! What?" Yuuri said, turning to face his godfather.

"We can talk about it later," Conrad promised with his usual smile. He placed a hand on Yuuri's shoulder, guiding him away.

"Later?" Yuuri practically squeaked.

"Yes."

Raven eyes turned back to Wolfram. His face seemed to be a mantra. "Please don't cause a scene. Please don't cause a scene. Please don't…" That's what it said as he glanced uncomfortably around the room.

_I have to do something!_

For a brief moment, Yuuri escaped his godfather's touch, returned to the table—which made Wolfram stare at him wide-eyed—and he placed his hand over the blond's while leaning in. Yuuri's face grew close and he could hear some of the murmurs saying "scandalous" in the background. But he didn't care. Whether the disapproval came in Japan or in Shin Makoku, it didn't matter. Not anymore.

Only Wolfram mattered.

"I'm sorry for embarrassing you. And I'm sorry for making you unhappy…"

Wolfram shook his head, doing his best not to look around the room but to focus entirely on Yuuri. "It's fine. It's just that people are watching you right now. So, forget me and focus more on yourself…your _reputation_…"

Yuuri held Wolfram's hand a little tighter. "I worry… I can't help it." Then, he forced a smile on his face and said, "Didn't you always say I was a flirt and a cheater?"

"Oh…Yuuri…" Green eyes grew sad and tears formed.

"Wolf?" Yuuri could feel himself beginning to panic. Wolfram wasn't the crying type. He did his best to hold everything in.

Wolfram rubbed the corner of his eye with his thumb. "The truth is…I lied." He looked briefly at the tear on his thumb and wiped the next which followed, stressing his voice so that it sounded normal when he said, "I said those things to keep you by my side…to make you feel sorry for neglecting me." He made brief eye contact with Yuuri and said, "Stupid of me."

Yuuri looked away briefly. "Yeah…I guess, I always knew that, too."

And he did know, somewhere in the back of his mind. He did—and did nothing about it.

Then, the double black snatched Wolfram's hand, walked around the table, and stood nose to nose with him. "That's why…" He turned, still holding Wolfram's hand, we're leaving.

"_Leaving_?" Wolfram breathed. "As in…_together_?"

"Yes."

"Now?" Wolfram hissed incredulously as Yuuri forced him to play follow the leader, hobbling pathetically without his walking stick.

"This way…to the door…."

Wolfram blushed hard as they went to the closest door. A page opened it wide and with grand ceremony for them, giving low bows. "Your Majesty!" he practically shouted, excited to do work for his king.

"Hell," Wolfram almost moaned, his hand tugging the rest of his body along. "Everyone in there thinks we just left to…"

"To what?" Yuuri asked as they went down the hallway. "I mean, we've left parties before and no one's complained."

Wolfram planted his feet down and blasted, "Sex, Yuuri! Sex! Sex! Don't you get it?"

A small group of young noble women hid behind their fans and scampered away from them in the hallway. One voice drifting back saying, "Are they going to do it in the hallway?"

Wolfram paled and covered his face with his free hand. He moaned, "_Y-u-u-r-i_… I'm a concubinus…and, now, they think I've seduced you."

He thought that embarrassment would be the end of it. With the double black, that was usually the case.

"I'm sorry, Wolf," Yuuri soothed but kept going, leading them out into the open air. Wolfram didn't look. He just allowed Yuuri to keep taking them to wherever he wanted. It didn't matter anyway. Yuuri now, truly, had a reputation for being immodest and shameless. And Wolfram had damaged him. His own reputation was nothing compared to Yuuri's.

_It should have been perfect, spotless_, the blond agonized _But, now…_

"Here we are, Wolf," Yuuri announced, opening the door to the greenhouse. Wolfram blinked, looking around as he entered. The warm, moist air and the familiar scents were relaxing. Slowly, he breathed them in.

"But it's growing dark, Yuuri," Wolfram observed. "No candles or anything."

"I know. But, at sunset, it really is pretty here," Yuuri said, "and everything smells wonderful, too—there's flowers and a kind of earthy smell, ya know?" He smiled hopefully with those incredibly adorable, black eyes.

The blond quickly turned his attention to a yellow rose, fingering the petals absently. "Yes, you're right," Wolfram agreed.

And, then, without saying another word, Yuuri took Wolfram in his arms and danced a very slow waltz.

The double black smiled, proud of himself as he asked, "Can your leg handle this?"

Green eyes widened a little. But, soon enough, he relaxed in Yuuri's arms. "Getting stronger every day…"

"Oh? So, you lied about not dancing because of your leg."

Wolfram's expression hardened. "I was covering for you, wimp." He gave Yuuri's chest a sharp finger jab.

It was like old times again.

The double black held Wolfram closer. "Then, try following me."

The blond followed along, allowing the steps to come naturally—mindlessly. Maybe, it was the warmth of the greenhouse and the intoxicating scents of the flowers. Maybe, he just didn't want to think anymore—just let it all happen. Arguing with the double black would be pointless anyway. He thought he was right. And he was King of Shin Makoku.

And, when Yuuri began to hum, Wolfram could almost let go of the mortifying moment they'd just shared together. "That's the song they were playing as we left The Grand Ballroom."

"Pretty, huh?" Yuuri said, looking back as he maneuvered them around a table with peppermint tulips on it.

"It's a nice song."

"No, I mean," he said with a blush, "you are."

"Wha-?" A surprised Wolfram was guided into another step to the right.

Closer now, they glided across the simple stone floor, among the flowers, and past glossy green plants. But the tempo was slower and slower still. Wolfram was half-tempted to rest his head on Yuuri's shoulder. But he knew it wouldn't be right. "Yuuri," he began quietly, "you know…"

"Know what?" he asked, moving them along in a new direction.

"You know…" He tilted his head sideways, curious to see the reaction. "I belong to The Maou now. I really love this but…"

Yuuri sighed a little, stopping them. "Yes, I know…" He took Wolfram in his arms again, hugging him and doing his best to make that look go away. "Everything's a mess now, isn't it?"

Wolfram's only answer was a nod. And, this time, the blond rested his head on his shoulder.

"Yes, Yuuri, and at this moment, the nobles believe…you or The Maou…umm…" It was so embarrassing to say out loud, but… "You are _enjoying_ me right now." Wolfram leaned a little heavier into Yuuri, allowing himself to rely on the other. "I've messed up your reputation, Yuuri. You're no longer innocent and good. There's something carnal about you now…soiled." He wrapped an arm around Yuuri's neck and held on. "And, I'm not sure which way to turn. Maybe, I should have married The Maou." The blond took a shaking breath. "Worse yet, is what I'm doing right now…holding you…cheating on him?"

"It will be fine, Wolfram."

"Fine?" he echoed.

Would it really?

Wolfram let go of Yuuri and walked to the door, sullen. Turning back he said, "I'm not really sure of that anymore. It feels like I'm cheating on him…with you… But I know in my heart, either way, I'll wake up with you in the morning." Wolfram looked at him, eyes moist. " I feel…lost." And, with that, he opened the door and left the greenhouse, his silhouette becoming a dark, formless shape.

* * *

In general, Wolfram didn't see himself as the type to fret. He liked to think of himself as a man who fearlessly took on each challenge life offered, no matter how difficult. But, tonight, he was beginning to question that self-image. He was, in fact, feeling something very much akin to…nerves.

Putting down the comb, Wolfram looked at himself again in the new, full-length mirror that had been delivered this afternoon. He was not wearing the notorious pink nightie that Yuuri knew too well. He had put on the new gown and robe that his mother's favorite seamstress had designed for him. The ankle-length silk gown was slit up high on the sides. But it was impossible to tell this feature unless he sat down on the bed. The delicate stitching on the neckline showed great skill with a needle and silk thread. And, for the moment, the matching apricot robe was clinging to his shoulders in much the same way a cape would. But it was the black piping that stood out the most. It had an expensive, glossy sheen to it. The blond looked at it and smiled a little. This was a symbol to those around him that he belonged to The Maou. And, as a concubinus, it was necessary for others to see from a single glance his position in life and to respect that intimate relationship. True, they wouldn't be likely to see _this_ outfit on him, but his mother had other shirts, jackets, and breeches ordered—all with a touch of black, all showing possession.

"But tonight…" Wolfram sighed, going over the events in his mind. It was pointless to do this, he knew. But, he wished that the whole evening could have started out and finished another way. _A better way_.

The blond fluffed out his hair a bit at the temples. His eyes glanced at the closed door. He was a bit… concerned. Yes, that was the way he'd look at it. He was concerned that The Maou would single out this particular night to come to his chamber and not in a good mood at all.

While being alluring, a "flower" beyond one's reach, and, seemingly, a more than worthy bedmate for The Maou had been Wolfram's original intentions at the feast—as it would for any in his social position—he had, somehow, attracted Yuuri's attention, too. And he, in turn, seemed to think that "poor Wolf" needed rescuing. The blond was certain that it would not be good for them both to be seen together at the gathering. (The guests, at best, would be reminded of their physical relationship.) But, once again, Yuuri defied all expectations and did things his own way—leaving the gathering, quite openly, hand in hand.

And, then, there was the dance in the greenhouse.

_And that greenhouse has a lot of glass that anyone could see through…_

Wolfram put a hand to his head, thinking himself a fool. Not at any time did he think of looking to see if anyone was hanging around, spying on them. "If Yozak had seen us…" Wolfram groaned a little. "If he reported back to Conrad or Gwendal…?" The blond stopped himself at that point. He just couldn't let his imagination get that far because his pride couldn't take it.

_But Yuuri's body was so warm and the dance seemed like a dream…_

There was a knock and Wolfram's head suddenly jerked in the direction of the sound. A blue haze was seeping in from under the door and, without question, he knew who it was. _He came after all…_ Wolfram went to open it, fidgeting with his robe along the way—not sure if he would meet a smiling face or an angry one on the other side.

Wolfram had chosen to become a concubinus. And, as such, he had fewer rights than a legal spouse. And whether one was a concubine or a concubinus, the expectation of fidelity was always there. To be unfaithful to your master was considered to be a shameful act. It brought dishonor to the master and he, alone, could determine punishment. Just what a justice wielding spirit would consider "infidelity" and "fair dealing," Wolfram didn't know. But all he really did was hold hands with Yuuri and have a dance alone with him. Certainly, that would not be enough for punishment. On the other hand, some part of him felt incredibly…_guilty_.

Wolfram opened the door and The Maou entered with an approving look at the young blond fire wielder who stood before him. Blond hair, a face that was fair, a body robed in the finest silks—all waiting for him. Turning his attention back to the hallway, The Maou winked at a passing guard as the door closed. Wolfram caught a glimpse of the uniformed man as he marched onward. He seemed more than a tad envious.

Green eyes lowered to the floor. Wolfram could feel a blush coming to his cheeks.

"Thou art most pleasing," The Maou said, approaching Wolfram and noting his new clothes.

Wolfram smiled a little, eyes still lowered. "Thank you." He could feel The Maou's hands touching him: shoulders, arms, waist. A single finger traced the black piping on Wolfram's gown, the gentle pressure being both slow and pleasure-seeking.

"Very agreeable…the color, most appropriate."

Wolfram glanced up at him murmuring the words "so glad" as he stood on tip-toe to brush a velvety kiss across The Maou's cheek. The spirit allowed it, an eyebrow arching at the blond once he was finished.

Arms wrapped themselves around Wolfram's waist.

"And most beautiful," The Maou purred, appreciating the one standing before him, making Wolfram feel just a little bit proud of himself. It had been a while since he felt that way. Since the time before Yuuri came to this world. To have the power to entice someone, to make them want him—he had free reign, free will. Wolfram was certain he would not be rejected and that gave him a sense of free will.

The blond turned his head to a seductive angle, revealing more of his neck as an invitation.

The Maou, instead, chuckled at him but made no further moves.

_Nothing?_

Wolfram felt himself growing somewhat irritated. Green eyes were turning a sharp, sparkling emerald. Okay, he'd try again. None of his other lovers ever needed a second chance at him—not even the virgins. But, for the sake of The Maou, he would offer his body again. Once more on tip-toe, he brushed a kiss against The Maou's lips only to get another vaguely amused look.

_Nothing…again?_

The blond made a shaking fist at his side. This was definitely _not_ the mood Wolfram was going for. "What's wrong?" he asked, keeping his tone in check but, at the same time, demanding an answer. Then, a thought struck. Maybe, The Maou was unhappy with him after all. Maybe, he had been watching through Yuuri's eyes and didn't like what he was seeing. A cold shadow passed across Wolfram's face and his released his fist. Was this the beginning of his punishment?

"Thy kisses are honey sweet, tis all."

But he chuckled again after saying that.

Wolfram lifted his chin, pressed himself closer against The Maou's chest, and gave him a look of determination. "If they're so sweet, then…" Wolfram's mouth sought The Maou's, "accept more." He whispered the last two words before their lips met and Wolfram took over the kiss. The blond's mouth was hungry and demanding, stubby nails digging into the black school uniform The Maou was wearing.

This time, however, The Maou moved away from him and gave a quick kiss to the forehead.

Wolfam backed away, pouting. "I'm not a little kid, you know."

The Maou laughed openly. He sat on the side of the bed Yuuri preferred, still vastly amused by the sight standing before him. Wolfram was ready for bed and dressed to perfection. He possessed thoroughly kissed, red lips and, at the same time, looked incredibly annoyed—a most adorable sight.

"Seriously!" the blond said, hand on his hip.

"Most assuredly…not a whelp."

Wolfram pouted, "Most assuredly…_yes_." He mocked lightly but with growing annoyance and a desire to prove himself right. "I mean, it's not like I'm a virgin or anything." With arms folded, and a blush, he faced away from The Maou. A gentleman—a true one—was never to brag about such things. But this was something that a lover, even an inconsiderate one, needed to know.

The Maou kicked off his shoes and began to unbutton his black jacket down the front. "Most assuredly, thou art virgin," he countered, giving a quick smile and, then, going back to undressing.

Wolfram approached him, stilling his hand. "Most assuredly, I am _not_ a virgin. And I should be the one to know." He began unbuttoning The Maou's clothing the way he would if Yuuri had been standing before him. Maybe, it had become habit when bickering. The blond didn't know. "Not that waiting for your special person is a bad thing. It's just that…I was _encouraged_ and having a beautiful face made it only so easy…"

The Maou cocked his head to the right, watching Wolfram's face as he reached the last button and opened the material of the jacket. "Was this during thy Joshua-Annette-Rosalind times or the Roland-Marie-Richard years?"

Wolfram's jaw dropped. How did The Maou know that? Unless… "Wait!" Wolfram shouted. "You got that information from my mother!"

"Possibly!" He laughed the word and began to work on his white undershirt.

The blond took three paces back and pointed an accusing finger. "When my mother was maou, you must have seen everything that was going on." He nodded to himself as he said it. It made sense.

There was a careless shrug to get the shirt off followed by The Maou tossing it wherever the fates chose to land it. Snake-like eyes, full of amusement, turned back to Wolfram. "I know many Wolfram secrets."

The blond approached him in all seriousness now. "But, why didn't my mother become all big and powerful like Yuuri does with you? Why did you only watch through her eyes? There was a war on, you know?"

This could have been solved so easily. The war would have ended without risking so many lives.

The Maou's smile slowly faded as he pulled back the covers to get in. "Power she had but chose to use not. Her heart, in truth, twas a far too gentle thing." The spirit draped the blankets over his lap. "To force it? Such a thing could rend a soul…"

"I'd say 'gentle' is the last word I'd use to describe my mother," Wolfram debated with a dismissive wave. He circled the bed and pulled back the blankets on his side. "So, I have a hard time believing all that." Once he sat down, though, the gown's silk fell away—revealing shapely, porcelain legs. Wolfram scrambled with the material for a second before just giving up, hopping in bed, and covering himself with the blankets as soon as he could.

The Maou stretched out, lying flat on his back with his head propped up on a pillow. He spoke, looking up in a wistful way, "Told to wait, she was…until the next king fell from the sky…Shinou's command." He turned his head to look at a skeptical Wolfram.

"So, Mother…knew?"

"Aye." The word was spoken in a longing tone and the eyes of the spirit roamed Wolfram. He rolled closer to the blond and took him in his arms again. "A relief to her, it was," he whispered in Wolfram's ear. The vibrations tickled and he resisted a shiver.

In a single movement, The Maou pulled Wolfram on top of him. There was something delicious about the way the spirit peered up. Fingers delved into blond hair and Wolfram found himself enjoying this private moment together very much.

He closed his green eyes, savoring the feel.

The hands guided his face lower, dipping down. And down.

The Maou kissed Wolfam—experimenting. And, from the kisses which followed, he learned much about the fire Mazoku. To begin with, even though Wolfram had been so adamant on kissing earlier—and with a ferocity typical to fire wielders—Wolfram seemed less keen on it than one would think. The Maou realized that Wolfram preferred a gentle rain of small kisses over his face and neck. He favored being softly enfolded and his slim arms caressed to being passionately secured. The Maou needed to only try that once—and to see the blond stiffen with a sharp intake of breath—to learn that lesson. It made the spirit wonder how long it had been since someone had simply held Wolfram and had given him any true affection. Fire wielders needed touch. Craved it sometimes. They wielded fire, a demanding element, but needed a kind of power, magnetism, or spark that could only come from another's physical touch.

The stupid or unlucky fire wielders often confused sex with affinity. Wolfram, The Maou guessed, knew the difference. However, it was also in Wolfram's nature to do his duty. And his duty was to fulfill the needs of his master. Any concubinus would do the same.

The Maou studied Wolfram's face and got a smirk for his efforts.

Wolfram's blond curls draped down across their faces with the next kiss. He closed his eyes again, and The Maou took his thumb and slowly drew a line across his forehead.

Wolfram's body fell heavily against The Maou. And the spirit chuckled.

"Disappoint you, I shall. For, thy heart still cries for another." He toyed with a strand of blond hair as he nuzzled Wolfram affectionately. "Dream sweetly…and hope for better days…"

And, with that, the spirit kissed Wolfram again—transforming his body back to something rounder and more boyish as he did so. The shoulders narrowed and the raven hair shortened. Yuuri, this time, awoke to a new sensation. His lips were pressed against Wolfram's and the blond was kissing in his sleep.

Never mind the fact that the blond had him pinned to the bed.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's notes: This chapter is dedicated to lili974WOLF and Aella Antiope.

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* * *

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Chapter 17

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Wolfram's head lolled heavily to the left, shifting his weight when he did so. Yuuri easily steadied him, wrapping him in both arms. And, then, he made him roll gently down and away to Wolfram's usual side of the bed. Blond hair fell loosely across the silk pillow, his body relaxed, and his lips parted.

A deep, heavy breath and "Hmmm?"

He seemed to be waking up a little, missing the warmth and the contact that he had before. Yuuri rested himself next to Wolfram, sharing the same pillow as well as trying to give again what was missing. And, to that, the blond smiled in his sleep.

"Kissing," Yuuri murmured. "We were…kissing." No, that wasn't exactly right. Wolfram and _The Maou_ were kissing.

_And probably more…_ Yuuri thought sourly, looking again at Wolfram. But, for the life of him, he couldn't see anything other than a silk-clad, beautiful creature dozing next to him.

He put his head back down. Yuuri tried to force himself to go to sleep. Obviously, it was late and he should just close his eyes. _Close them._ But, he couldn't. Pictures filled his mind of a very sexy, very _primal_ Maou roughly taking Wolfram to be his own. Clutching, barely clothed bodies pressed tightly together… Wolfram, in the double black's imagination, would try to resist a bit—for the sake of modesty and pride. But, could anyone really deprive The Maou of what he wanted? "The Maou" of his imagination laughed in a dark, sexy way. Wolfram gasped from his body being…

"That's it!" His vivid imagination was getting the better of him and, somewhere within, he thought he could feel _real_ The Maou snickering at him in low tones.

Which gave him another idea…_entirely_…

It was a stupid idea, he knew. A totally ridiculous thing. And allowing The Maou to taunt him from the safety of his dark hiding place was enough to drive the double black mad. But, still, he was compelled to do it. And, if he was careful, no one would ever know.

Raven eyes turned to Wolfram. The still burning candles were casting his sleeping companion in slightly golden, shifting light. _Beautiful..._ An unearthly delicacy and refinement tempered with strength from his fire element. This was the kind of ethereal image that compelled poets to write and singers to sing. A lover would gladly go to war and fight to the death for such a sight.

A taste of perfection.

That's what Wolfram was. He could recognize it now, what other people saw in Wolfram at a glance. Finally.

Yuuri brushed Wolfram's cheek with the back of his hand. It was an intimate gesture that noble lovers used in Shin Makoku—both as an "I love you" and as a "goodbye." And, he noted to himself, it felt okay. There was nothing frightening or confusing about it at all. A simple gesture of affection.

The double black did it again.

Nothing.

The blond didn't wake. He was sleeping soundly.

With a little more confidence, Yuuri gingerly pulled away the bed linens. He ran his trembling hand down Wolfram's chest, over his middle, and further down his leg. He felt a blush but kept going. Yuuri reached the edge of the silk gown and, with a sudden intake of breath—steeling himself—he gently lifted it up. Fingers softly glided up.

Yuuri knew that he was wearing nothing but his thong. And, much to his surprise, Wolfram was doing the same. His black thong was tied at both hips as usual. Some part of Yuuri was vastly relieved. The Maou had, for some totally inexplicable reason, decided to depart early in their make-out—and, best of all, he left Wolfram untouched.

After scanning hurriedly through a few "forbidden" books in Lady Cheri's private section of the library, Yuuri had realized that he had not taken Wolfram's "innocence" after all. That knowledge was both a blessing and a curse. Love and relationships were confusing to him. He was so new to it all. And, slow as he was to admit it to himself, he was afraid. He knew that _all_ people his age were supposed to dive headfirst into the new emotions and adult relationships that puberty offered. All of the manga and animes he'd seen told him that much.

First, you like someone. Then, you confess your feelings. If accepted, the two of you become…"koibito."

"Koibito," he sighed.

With a kind of frustrated weariness, he traced "恋人" in the air with a finger.

Yes, the "koibito" part of the "relationship design" had been a major stumbling block for him in his mind and had brought great pain for Wolfram (whether either one of them wanted to admit it or not).

The second you were "lovers," that was the point where the sex part was supposed to come in. That's what the mangas and animes showed—whether both parties were ready for it or not. And Yuuri wasn't ready for that kind of relationship. He knew it.

It was more than just removing clothes, doing one thing or another, and a lot of groaning on the bed. Yuuri knew, from overhearing some of the guys in the lockeroom, that there was something deep and personal about it. It was the kind of thing that, once _done_, could never be _undone_. It could make good relationships awkward, friends suddenly enemies, and happiness...very sad. An action that could lead to regrets…? Did he really want that now? What if, afterwards, he could see into Wolfram's soul and find…find he'd done something brutal? Against his will…in an act of thoughtless passion?

"Yuuri…" Wolfram sighed in his sleep.

The double black rested his head against Wolfram's. "I know that you still want me…for some reason that I will never understand." He closed his eyes briefly and let out a discontented sigh. "You're prettier than any girl I've ever met. And you smell like sunflowers…" He softly rubbed his black locks against blond ones with care, doing his best not to wake Wolfram. "…But I feel pressured by you, too. I think…I want to be everything you see in me. I really do. But…" He held on to him, wrapping an arm around. "You're going too fast for me. And, now, The Maou has you." Yuuri pushed a strand of hair from Wolfram's face, tracing the path down the side of his cheek with a fingertip. "And, you're right, Wolf. Everything's a mess and, tomorrow, you'll wake up beside me…just like you said." Slowly, he pushed himself up on his elbow to stare down into Wolfram's face. "But that's the way it is for now. And that's 'cos…I'm not giving up. I'm going to keep trying."

Raven eyes took in the pale face. "Do you hear me, Wolf?" he whispered, not really expecting a response.

A piggy little snore was the answer and Yuuri found himself laughing for a moment, even if he really didn't want to. But Wolfram was like that, bringing him to places—make him feel things—that he didn't think possible.

A gift. That's what Yuuri had wanted to give Wolfram—an expression of more than simple gratitude or doing an act out of obligation.

He neared Wolfram's cheek and puckered, giving the bishonen a soft and somewhat blubbery kiss. It was a very pleasant feeling even if Wolfram's reaction was wrinkling his nose and giving a quick scratch. Yuuri waited a whole minute to pass before coming back and kissing the same spot again but with a little more expertise in the execution.

_Nice… _

Another kiss. But, this time, he had the eyes of a lover and a warm, impatient glow from within. Then, he chose: the tip of the chin, the forehead, the other cheek, and…finally… Yuuri swallowed a little thickly, feeling his heart beat hard, before committing himself and trying Wolfram's lips.

Lower, slower…

Touching, soft…pleasant…

In fact, _very pleaseant_…

Yuuri drew up closer to the sleeping blond with a small twinkle in his eye, not unlike The Maou's earlier. More kisses followed…some soft as velvet and others wet. And he kissed Wolfram lightly all through the night. By dawn, the blond's lips were cherry red and thoroughly kissed.

When morning came and Wolfram finally awoke by Yuuri's side, which was not a great surprise, he wondered why his lips were a bit rough. It seemed so strange. Then, he fingered the side of his throat and felt...

"A love bite?" He winced, fingering the same spot again. "How, the hell, did that happen?"

* * *

"And then…" Yozak stopped for dramatic effect. It worked on Conrad, much to the spy's delight. "I saw them dancing away in the greenhouse. I think the kiddo's waltzing lessons with Günter and Gissela have really improved his sense of timing." Then, he gave a wink and, to that, Conrad raised a delicate eyebrow.

"After that…?" Conrad asked, his tone was the usual but Yozak knew that there was a protectiveness as well. In fact, the second son had taken a new hobby since Wolfram's fall from the balcony. He watched his little brother from afar and employed Yozak to do likewise when his duties with Yuuri made him unable to be there.

"Hmmm…" The spy's lips curled into a smirk. "Well, they were _very close_ and Little Lord Brat didn't seem to mind so much."

Conrad let out an impatient, breathy sigh which showed his thinly disguised annoyance. "Was he limping? Did he look like he was hurting and trying to cover it up for Yuuri's sake?"

The blue eyed man sat down on a tree stump and stretched his arms out casually. Not taking things seriously, or pretending to, and being too lax in answering always annoyed Conrad. This was what he deserved for taking that edge in speaking to him.

"Well, I'd say that they were both enjoying themselves," he answered honestly. "So, don't borrow trouble."

Conrad, now satisfied, rested his hand lightly on Yozak's shoulder as an apology. It was the way they were together and, now that he was certain Wolfram was okay after the fiaco at the feast, he could allow himself to relax a little.

Both men turned their attention to the stables. Wolfram was on his white steed, enjoying himself emmencely. Gissela had finally given him approval to go out riding whenever he liked and Wolfram was more than up to that challenge.

He left at a merry trot and found the weather perfect for a ride. He already had his sights set on his favorite little spot—a wooded area with a clearing lined in blackberry bushes. True, the berries were not yet in season this time of year. But, that didn't matter. The fact that he could leave the drafty, dark castle and get some fresh air was wonderful. The sky was blue and the weather was just perfect. It made his spirits soar. His bad leg slowed him down so much that he thought it wasn't worth walking. But, on a horse, he had movement. Freedom. He could run and jump and…

"Yuuri."

His face fell.

At the gate, the double black was waiting for him with Greta and all of Wolfram's men from his elite guard.

_Oh, Hell_, the blond thought as he urged his horse forward. _Does Yuuri not get it? I can't be seen with any of these people…except for Greta…in private…_

Forcing his expression to be neutral, Wolfram flicked the reins and approached the assembled group. Greta, who was on her favorite horse, "Sunshine," was grinning widely. After being separated for so long, she was finally on an outting with her fathers. It didn't matter if Papa Wolf now belonged in a way no one was willing to define for her to Daddy Yuuri. It was all the same as long as they stayed a family.

Yuuri, as he sat on Ao, seemed proud of himself—as though he'd found a clever way to do something and everyone just hopped onto the idea.

Of course, they'd hop onto the idea. He was maou? Couldn't Yuuri figure that part out?

Hesitantly, Wolfram's eyes drifted to the uniformed men he once trained and trusted to be by his side. They all seemed very pleased to be there. But, not surprisingly, the men's eyes kept cutting back and forth between their king and their former commander. Some of the men—those with the biggest crushes on Wolfram—seemed a tad envious. Others were wearing blushes that were unmistakable. But, still, as a whole, all were pleased for him. They believed Wolfram's love, in some strange way, had been returned. And, by being a concubinus, he was free to express his inner desires without the need to be so proper all of the time.

_Damn_, Wolfram thought, tightening his fist on the brown leather reins.

"Wolf! Oi, I had this great idea…" Yuuri said, waving at him to come even closer.

"_Great" would not be the word I would use to describe this_, he thought, urging his horse forward.

The blond forced a thin smile on his face for the sake of his daughter and his king, not to mention the little audience of blue clad men that he had. "Yes…so I see." He rode up next to Greta's horse instead of Yuuri's, showing the group that he still had some shred of modesty left. "So, what do we have planned?"

Greta clasped her hands together, thrilled. "Oh, there's so much to do! We're going to follow an animal trail, and go into the village, and throw coins in the fountain, and get something to eat at the Blue Boar Inn…"

"Apple pie?" Wolfram asked, though he really didn't need to.

"Yes!"

And so it went. Greta's voice continued on as they began their slow "clomp, clomp, clomp" through the castle's front gate. And it continued as they were well on their way down the cobblestone road.

The familiar sway of the saddle and the gentleness of the breeze lulled Wolfram's senses and, in time, faded the grave disappointment he'd felt earlier. For a brief second, Wolfram stopped listening to Greta and dared to look across from her, giving the double black a fleeting look. Their eyes met and then they looked away, surprised that they were both doing the exact same thing.

As their group slowed to form a line along the animal trail, Yuuri glanced back again, not being able to resist, and noted that Wolfram had his head down but was smiling to himself.

The double black hoped Wolfram was thinking about him. And that thought—that possibility—warmed his heart.

* * *

"This is so frustrating," the blond fumed, saying the words between gritted teeth. "If tonight is anything like two nights ago, I'm going to go mad."

Wolfram tugged and straightened his ebony cuffs as he looked at himself in the mirror with approval. His cream and black silk pajamas for tonight's "pursuit" was what he thought would be more than enough to entice. The outfit was a beaded, v-neck tunic top with long, sheer sleeves and a pair of clingy, silk bottoms. Once the top was removed, the bottoms left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

The blond hoped that this particular feature would _help_.

The problem? As the next three weeks passed, Wolfram found himself growing more and more aggravated at every turn. The Maou would come, now, two or three times each week but their relationship remained as platonic as ever. And, when the spirit wasn't visiting with him, Yuuri, the epitome of "platonic," would do his level best to spend at least two hours or more with him in irritatingly _public_ ways: checking out the horses in the Royal Stables, playing chess (instead of studying) whenever Günter was called away from his tutoring, eating snacks in the kitchen, reading next to him in the library, spelunking in the Royal Treasure Room, etc.

As embarrassing as these things were, he had to admit that Yuuri's companionship was more relaxed now, making it more comfortable between them. And the double black, Wolfram noticed, would sit next to him, give small touches on the arm or shoulder, and he would ask, "Is there anything you need?" on a regular basis. Add to the fact, Yuuri would no longer wake up in a panic. It almost seemed like old times when the double black yawned next to him and rubbed an eye with the heel of his hand while asking the question, "Do you want to have breakfast in here?" The only thing that changed between them was that they were both wearing nothing more than their black thongs and they were fine with it.

"Which leads me to the same old issue that I have with The Maou," he grumbled.

From Wolfram's viewpoint, the spirit seemed to revel in their "kissing relationship." They never went beyond that. And, when Wolfram hinted to go further, he'd suddenly find himself falling asleep in the bed for the next eight hours. Worse yet, he'd be feeling chilled to the bone when he woke up because his gown would be on the floor or tossed in a heap over a chair. And the number of love bites on Wolfram's porcelain skin was increasing.

The latest one was on his inner thigh.

The blond blushed at the memory.

Wolfram decided that tonight, if The Maou should come to his room, things would be very different, indeed. After all, he was officially a concubinus now—legally signed and sealed. Green eyes flicked to the official document on his desk with all of the signatures at the bottom. Besides, everyone, long ago, assumed they were having some pretty terrific sex. So the wait was truly confusing. Even if they had been married in Shinou's Temple, he would have been just as confused. Who would be in this kind of relationship and not have sex?

_No, I'll just have to try harder. That's all there is to it,_ he thought to himself.

The blond was fluffing out his hair again when the firm knock came and, glancing at the door, he knew it was The Maou. A thin, blue water dragon peeped its head from under the door and Wolfram knelt down to peer at it. It wiggled its whiskers in greeting which made Wolfram laugh at him.

"Hello, little one."

Another impish wiggle to free itself from the bottom of the door and a watery, high-pitched giggle followed. Then, he looked up and opened his fanged mouth. This whole time, he had been carrying a small bottle of…_something_. Wolfram took it as the door was knocked upon again.

"Um…one moment, please." The blond opened it and, as The Maou entered, he examined more closely the clear bottle the water dragon had given him.

"What is…?"

With no one touching it, door closed behind him and The Maou leaned against it roguishly, extending a hand low to his small dragon, taking him in his palm when the creature leapt into it. "A gift…of rose oil."

The blond turned the clear bottle over in his hands, eyeing the pale pink liquid inside. Wolfram knew the uses of rose petal oil. It was a muscle relaxant, kept skin soft, a stress reliever in the bath, and…for… "Oh…"

"Do away with thy clothes," The Maou ordered, a hand on his hip.

Wolfram nodded, returned the bottle to The Maou, and began to remove the tunic top, gripping the hem a bit too hard, wrinkling the material. Why did he feel nervous? He did just for a second, feeling his heart speed up. Maybe because this would be their first time…?

Green eyes peered up. "Just curious," he asked, gently draping the tunic over the back of his chair, "how you…ummm…got this?"

A mischievous grin and then, "A gift from thy mother… Twas left, in all places, The Royal Bedroom."

This time, Wolfram fought off a smirk and worked hard to keep his tone flat. "I guess…Yuuri was surprised." He could just imagine the expression on the young king's face when that bottle showed up. And, if she followed her usual habit, his mother would have left the bottle in a dark red box with sexy, black netting "giftwrap" over it and a silky bow.

The grin finally came to him, no matter how hard he tried. "Did she leave a card and…hand-written instructions?" He knew he had to ask.

"Most assuredly…for a love spell."

Wolfram grinned at The Maou with a full set of perfect, white teeth as he took off the bottoms and draped them likewise over the chair. It was a great moment, picturing Yuuri that way, flustered and not knowing what to do. But, as the bishonen did so, the mood in the room gradually changed. Now, wearing only his black thong with a hint of an apple blush coming, Wolfram knew that he had to move on with his plan. It was time, after all.

They belonged together. Everything was legal now.

The black thong had thin, string bows on either side holding the garment up. Stiff fingered, he took one of the strings on the right side and began to pull slowly…

Slowly…

Until The Maou stayed his hand…

"Not this night."

Wide, green eyes blinked up at him. "_W-h-a-t_?" he blurted.

With little effort, The Maou picked him up in his arms, carrying him to the canopy bed. Wolfram, frustrated again, kicked his legs in a futile action that he knew would make him seem like the brat everyone always said he was. But he was determined to show The Maou that he was not pleased about being rebuffed.

An eyebrow was raised at that. "What else should thou have hoped for?"

The stern voice was a surprise to the blond Mazoku. And, for that split second, he didn't know what to do or how to react.

He stopped kicking.

The Maou rolled Wolfram down onto the mattress unceremoniously and, after a few tumbles, the blond came to a sudden, unpleasant halt. He flipped his thoroughly mussed hair back with a single hand.

Wolfram gaped at him, disbelieving. "Are you serious?"

The Maou discarded his clothes, keeping his slitted eyes locked on Wolfram all the while, pulled the stopper from the bottle, and poured a liberal amount of the oil in his hand. The small bottle was deposited on the nightstand with a light click of glass on wood. Then, with growing amusement at the irritated blond Mazoku lying before him, the spirit warmed his palms together with the oil.

Dark, slitted eyes regarded his prey, head cocked to the side. "Aye."

"Aye? Humph! You sound like a pirate," Wolfram grumbled lowly but stayed on his stomach anyway. He folded his arms under his chin and pouted.

"Doest thou _like_ pirates?" the spirit asked, wondering if Wolfram would stay stubborn. And, he was right. The blond was going to give a cheeky answer when he suddenly felt the bed dipping awkwardly and he realized that one of The Maou's bent knees was to his right and the other to his left.

The spirit was, now, happily seated on his bum.

"What are you…?" Wolfram breathed, stunned, as the scent of roses came to him.

"Doest thou not know? Ask this _pirate_, then."

Ah, a real question. And that got him out of his surprised daze. Wolfram raised his head a little to look over his shoulder because he had to admit that he liked those—real questions. When The Maou spoke _to him_, and not _at him_, things got interesting.

"I…um…don't exactly… And, you're not a real pirate, by the way."

And, then, warm hands came to his back. The slick oil was applied to his skin—nape of the neck, shoulders, down the spine, and to the lower back. Wolfram closed his eyes with pleasure as the hands returned, making the same motions as before but with pressure. That sweet agony was superb and Wolfram hummed appreciatively as the hands reached his lower back once more, rubbing in small circles. He was tight. That was for certain.

Wolfram groaned and kicked a little with the rubbing. Right. Left. Right.

He had to remember to breathe, it felt so good.

"More…please," he asked and the splendid feelings came again.

The haze of a green glow caught his attention and Wolfram turned his head slightly. "Healing magic?" He turned his head back lazily and rested his chin on his folded arms. "Do I really need that?"

"T'would help," The Maou returned and hovered his hands along Wolfram's spine again—neck downwards. "Thy body's energy and fire element…are balanced not." The same motions were repeated again and again with the green glow passing from the spirit's hands with great care.

"Hmmm…yeah…" the blond hummed. "…Much better now…"

The contact returned but, instead of applying pressure, the fingers were drawing patterns in the slick oil at a lazy pace. The gentle heat and moisture felt good—a new kind of "good"—with the brushing of fingertips against his skin. Next, both hands began at either side of the neck and, going down along the spine, they made curves and arcs in unhurried motions.

"What is this?" Wolfram asked, drowsy but still curious.

The spirit leaned forward as he spoke. "Tis…_contornare_. Know of it?"

Wolfram, relaxed as he was, wasn't inclined to think. But, after being asked, he did remember of an old custom back in his grandfather's era. "_Contornare_ …?" The blond tried copying the spirit's accent when he said the outdated word. "Sounds familiar, but the exact meaning…" He shook his head. He didn't know for certain.

"Tis out of fashion?" The Maou asked, but he wasn't surprised.

"Dunno," Wolfram sighed with contentment, now thinking of dropping off into sleep. Even if he got oil all over his new sheets because of it, he didn't care. He didn't even care if the maids would come in the next morning and would see the wet evidence as something hot and scandalous, squealing with excitement for them. It didn't matter.

The spirit continued drawing the patterns on Wolfram's back—a silky-smooth, gliding feeling. At one point, it almost felt like he was floating.

"What is it?" Wolfram asked in a hazy tone.

The dark, sensuous voice met his ear and the blond found himself waking up a little. "C_ontornare…_ Tis done by lovers after…enjoying each other."

"Eh?" Wolfram, much more alert now, looked over his shoulder at The Maou. Now, everything had clicked into place. He did remember overhearing some of the elderly nobles referring to "_contornare" _with nostalgia and mirth. Now, he knew why. Wolfram's generation had other terms for it and the actions weren't so ritualized.

"Can you do that again?" the blond asked. "I kind of…want to remember…" Wolfram could feel his face warm with the request. Yes, if he could learn this, he could, in the future, please The Maou, too—_afterwards_.

"Again…is easily done, my bright one…" And The Maou started once more.

"It feels great," Wolfram complemented as the fingertips brushed against his skin. "I just wish I could do the same."

The Maou laughed at him and replied, "Tis easily done."

"Oh?" Wolfram sighed, enjoying the sensations. He really didn't think it was possible so soon. There seemed to be too many curves—first with the right hand and, then, not quite so elegantly, with the left.

"Doesth thou know how to pen words?"

Wolfram pushed himself up a little on his elbows and said, "To write? Of course, I do."

"Then, all that must be done is to make words…'forever mine'…tis all." Fingers continued to press against the slick, oil-drenched skin—moving, sliding, gliding. And, closing his eyes, Wolfram felt it and realized it. The entire time, The Maou had written the words over and over across his skin in the warm rose oil. And the words were good, kind, sacred. A promise that lovers always made. What a fool he had been to have missed that.

Now, Wolfram felt loved and protected—something that sex alone could never do.

Eyes moist, the blond rested his chin on his folded arms. The Maou was right all along. He didn't grasp such simple things even when he was experiencing them. Truth was, he was _virgin_ after all.

He just never knew it.


	18. Chapter 18

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Chapter 18

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Slow, even breathing.

In…out…

Wolfram's body felt heavy and, gradually, he drifted off. But, at some point during the night, he began to dream _strangely_. Or, so he thought. The "dreams" were sensations more than images. There was the weight of the thin blanket on top of him and the silk sheets beneath. He could sense hands exploring, brushing against his shoulders, hips, and waist.

Wolfram hummed a little, felt a tickling, and curled onto his side—away from whatever it was.

The hands kept exploring—upper back, fingers trailing down, and lower back. Then, a soft pinch on his bum.

Stubbornly, Wolfram flopped onto his back again. Nobody should pinch his butt without his permission—asleep or awake.

He could have rolled off in another direction, but where he was felt warm even though he had a vague feeling that he had not put his clothes on after The Maou's Contornare. Yes, if he could keep this spot in the bed, it would be perfect, just the right temperature.

A soft breath against his cheek.

A tender kiss on the lips.

Wolfram found himself waking up a little. This was no dream. It had to be more of The Maou's gentle affection. He, probably, had been using incredible willpower to hold himself in check. Wolfram wondered, vaguely, if he himself could do the same given the opportunity. Then, his mind flashed to Yuuri. Yes, he could. In fact, he had done so for years—to look, to admire, to be so close but to do nothing... Even when the situation had become more than obvious that Yuuri would never come to love him, Wolfram still held back with honor while lesser Mazokus would never have done so.

The bed shifted with the weight of the body next to him.

Another kiss. A hand laced fingers with his.

_But now…_

Now, Yuuri had changed his mind. He seemed to want Wolfram. Or, maybe, it was just the companionship that he missed so much. If that was the case, he would simply ask Greta to spend more time with her other father.

He exhaled heavily.

_So, that problem…easily fixed._

The blond took a small intake of breath when lips latched onto the delicate skin just under his collarbone. There was the sweeping brush of dark hair against his chest and a palm stroked his stomach with a light touch.

Eyes still closed, hoping that feigning sleep would keep The Maou at his needy task, Wolfram could sense the hand moving down and around his waist, repositioning his body into something closer, more intimate. Their legs tangled together and Wolfram felt the lips again, further down his chest—kissing and then applying pressure as it latched on again, warm and wet.

Green eyes opened weakly when an index finger found the right bow at his hip, keeping his thong in place, and smoothly wiggled beneath it.

Dark. It was so dark but he could feel everything. He narrowed his eyes but could still see very little in the drafty room. Wolfram murmured tiredly, "If it would please you, Maou, I would be willing to oblige your desires." The blond tried to stretch a little to wake up more. It would be disgraceful to fall asleep during their first time together. In fact, he'd never be able to live it down.

Instead, the dark-haired one simply clasped Wolfram's body to him and shook his head "no," burying his face in Wolfram's chest.

"Are you certain?" Wolfram asked in a sleepy tone.

A brief shake of "yes."

"As you wish." Wolfram yawned a little and turned his head away, allowing himself to return to sleep. But, for a few moments, he took strands of the thick, dark hair that he was so used to admiring and let them fall gracefully between his fingers.

Over and over, the strands fell like silk until Wolfram grew too tired and snored lightly in his sleep. His hand gently rested against his neck.

Yuuri placed a palm against Wolfram's dozing face, relieved that he had not been caught on this night. Yuuri's heart was still pounding hard, though. His body was tense. It was such a close call. But, now that he thought about it, there was something exhilarating to it—almost getting caught doing…doing _this_. And, with a little mischievous smirk on his face, he pushed himself up closer to the headboard, rested his body against Wolfram's side, and snuggled against the warm flesh.

This time had been a bit too close. But that didn't mean he was going to stop. Yuuri wanted _practice_ in the ways of love. And the only one he wanted to practice with was Wolfram. The blond was so perfect—almost too perfect. And he deserved a better koibito than a bumbling fool from Earth. So, he was going to have to work at it—his technique—before confessing his feelings. And his nightly "visits" would continue, if he had his way. All he'd have to do, though, would be to make doubly sure Wolfram was one hundred percent asleep—as usual—before enjoying his midnight Wolf-snack. If not, he'd be in trouble. A lot of trouble.

After all, he was playing with fire.

* * *

Yozak joined Conrad as he stood by a tall, flowering shrub, sipping his morning coffee quietly. Conrad gave a short-lived smile while his eyes remained fixed on Wolfram's bedroom. The sun was starting to rise and Conrad was dressed, ready for his daily jog with his godson.

"Still in there, huh?" Yozak asked, as though he didn't know.

This time, Conrad gave a brief look in the spy's direction and went back to his hot drink. "Yes, he's spending more and more time with Wolfram in his 'maou' form. I'm starting to get concerned that Yuuri will not be able to deal with the mornings, though, when he returns to himself." He sighed into his drink before adding, "And Günter is getting to the point where he's losing too much blood seeing His Majesty barely clothed."

"Is that all you're really worried about?" Yozak asked.

"Well, why wouldn't it?"

He shook his head at the words. "So, what you're saying is that this concubinus arrangement makes you…_uncomfortable_?" he prodded. There was still a side to Yozak that was suspicious. He didn't think the worst of people. He just new that people were born with flaws. And, in Yozak's case, he was certain that Conrad liked relationships placed in neat, tidy little boxes. The problem was that, with Wolfram, life was rarely neat or simple. So, it was only natural that Conrad (and Gwendal for that matter) to have concerns. And Yozak knew that Conrad's feelings towards Yuuri were complicated—no matter what he claimed.

"Jealous?" he asked, looking at the spy again.

Sky blue eyes regarded him for a second as an answer. But, in the end, he gave up and said, "As long as you are pleased with our life…as is…I have no complaints, either."

Conrad took another sip. "Sounds like a bit of a copout, if you ask me."

Yozak gave a confused look. "More strange Earth words again, I see." He put his hands in his pockets. "Sometimes, I think you are the only one here who understands the kiddo…all that Earth lingo and such."

"I do…in a way." Then, Conrad wrapped an arm around Yozak's shoulders and offered the coffee cup for a sip. "But I wish you'd trust me and our king a little bit more. You're starting to sound like Wolfram…a bit jealous or envious over something you need not be."

With his right hand, he rested it at Conrad's waist and, with the left, he took a sip from the mug. "I suppose, you're right. I mean, when I'm off on my missions, I have to flirt shamelessly with men and women. I have to be in character and take things as far as I have to in order to get information for your brother and Shin Makoku."

A brunette eyebrow was raised. "How far…exactly?"

There was a deafening silence and Yozak swallowed thickly. He was an idiot for revealing that much. But, now, he couldn't pretend he hadn't said it. Worse yet, he knew he had his full attention in a very bad way. The spy's head tilted to the ground. "This last time… At the bedroom chamber door," he said abruptly before taking a fat gulp of coffee. He could feel brown eyes boring into him. _Not good._ "But it's my job," he defended. "You knew that when I started the work."

Conrad nodded. "However, things between us were different back then."

Yozak looked up to the bedroom window. "Yeah, different…" He pointed up with the mug still in hand. "And their lives are different, too. Either it will work out…somehow…or it won't. For your sake, though, I hope it does."

Conrad tilted his head to the side curiously. "Why for my sake?"

"Well..." He handed the empty mug back. "It will make you your old self again…and I miss him."

"I never knew that I had left," Conrad returned, trying to lighten the mood a little more. This felt like old times between them—the reason why, no matter how many years passed, they still found their way to each other.

"Yeah, you've been gone for a little while now. I'm going to throw a party when you come home for good."

A small smirk which widened when Yozak rested his head on his shoulder. His body was perfumed with a light musk scent today. "Oh, what kind of party will that be?"

Yozak chuckled in a sexy tone, "A surprise party."

Conrad gave a one-armed hug and whispered back, "What should I wear?"

"That's the surprise."

* * *

On this night, Wolfram had moved his small chair onto the balcony so that he could look up at the stars. He needed the peace, the serenity, after the day he'd had.

It had taken some effort to fill his day today, but he'd managed it. Wolfram had gone on a long shopping trip with his mother for silks and linens. His wardrobe was still a "tad dull" (according to his mother) and he needed to have more bed linens worthy of The Maou. Well, the second part of her suggestion was hard to argue with even though her giggling made him blush. After that, Wolfram had a hair trim, his nails buffed, and he was shown several new brands of cologne—none of which appealed. The women around him kept fussing over him, practically buzzing in his ears, telling him how "adorable he was" and that black looked good on him.

Today, Wolfram's outfit had been a medium brown jacket with matching trousers and a black vest. The cravat had a hand-sewn, block pattern in black thread, giving a more masculine look than his typical attire usually had.

It seemed fine, though a little tiring, the whole day through until he met up again with Yuuri while passing in the hallway with the servants and purchases from the trip. The double black came up for some small talk, Wolfram guessed, about "what a great day" it was all the while readjusting the cravat and fluffing it out. (Though, instead of making it fluffier, it made it lopsided.) He also made a comment that he'd rarely seen such somber colors on him. It made Wolfram feel odd, as though Yuuri somehow disapproved of the black he was wearing. Then, to make matters worse, he insisted upon going in his direction—and more small talk—with a suggestion that the two of them have dinner just to themselves tomorrow night. With his mother and Conrad smiling on from over Yuuri's shoulder, not to mention the guards overhearing, Wolfram felt obligated to agree. After all, he was technically The Royal Concubinus to the Twenty-Seventh Maou of Shin Makoku. Though, he did have the brief fantasy of smacking Yuuri with his walking stick—a strange daydream, once he looked back at it. It felt almost arousing, but, swiftly, he shook the feeling off. To indulge on such fantasies bordered on perversion—even if he could practically imagine Yuuri moaning. Where did that come from?

So, here he was now. Sitting and watching the stars—wishing he could become one of them in the sky. It would certainly make his life much easier.

_Wimpy Yuuri… What will you do if you suddenly wake up and change your mind about me? Not want me again? Will you feel like a fool? _

The blond sighed, folded his arms against his chest, and leaned back in the chair. He rocked it on its hind legs—something his nanny always scolded him for.

_And, worse yet, what if you anger The Maou? I am his…in a way…that's totally confusing my heart. And you…? You're just along for the ride._

There was a thick rustling down underneath his balcony—the leaves around one of the shrub roses shaking briskly. "Eh?" Wolfram brought the chair down on all fours, making a thud. Then, he stood up and leaned over the railing to get a better look at whatever it was.

"What…in the name of Shinou is…?" he breathed.

Where were the guards? He glanced briefly for them before going back to the leafy mass below him.

The shaking sound continued and the blond briefly considered levitating a fireball over the side to see better or, more logically, to simply call for the guards. The lazy bums had to be somewhere. Probably gossiping with the kitchen staff, he thought to himself as…

Rustle.

Rustle.

"Hell!" Wolfram's body almost fell backwards, twisting away when a huge water dragon shot up from the shrubs. The whiskered face had bright blue eyes. One winked at him. And there was a distinct smile on its face—fangs hanging out on either side. And standing on its head, in a casual pose, was The Maou dressed in Yuuri's black uniform.

The blond, now realizing, stood at attention in almost a military fashion—wondering if that was the appropriate response. His half-shirt top and long pajama bottoms in a black, checked pattern, were flapping in the night breeze. He really needed his robe. Emerald eyes looked back through the doorway toward the bed. Sure enough, it was there. But, hobbling over to get it, using his bad leg, would absolutely ruin the moment, making him a thing of pity. And, this time, Wolfram was determined to take the final step with The Maou—to make them become _one_. It was going to happen.

Light spilling from Wolfram's bedroom caressed The Maou's dark, angled features. His slitted eyes sparkled and his long hair framed his face. There was something about the way he was looking at him, too, that said he was desirable. Wolfram smiled in a way that had not graced his face since before he'd come of age.

It was strange how a single look could change someone.

The Maou jumped over the railing in a single, sure-footed bound and draped an arm over Wolfram's shoulder. "My bright one," he murmured before giving a chaste kiss on the lips.

Wolfram, determined to do more, wrapped his arms around Shin Makoku's Demon King and pressed closer—kissing with great need and, here and there, giving soft, little nips on his lower lip. The Maou didn't seem to mind at first but, then, his head turned abruptly when…

"Whoa, Clive! There's a huge dragon over here! Look! Call the other guards!"

Wolfram and The Maou leaned over the railing. Apparently, The Maou's water dragon had decided to coil itself underneath the balcony while the rest of it—including the tail—was draped into the nearest fountain.

Nobody could miss that for very long.

Now, three of Shin Makoku's finest guards were pointing to the watery coils, not to mention the dragon's head, and debating openly on what to do. Apparently, the creature posed no threat. It was openly lounging itself with a warbly sound that seemed more like a snore. That's when the tallest soldier took a sudden glance upward to see Wolfram, barely wearing his half-shirt and with his midriff and navel exposed, being cuddled up to the side of The Maou whose expression was that of a "cat has cream."

"Uh…Sire…" The tall soldier began, fearing he would be punished for speaking to his king, but the need was there.

The Maou pointed a finger down and uttered in a deep voice, "Mine."

That was all that was necessary. No further explanation was needed nor would they get any. And, with a smirk, he lifted Wolfram into his arms like a bride and brought him inside. Meanwhile, the dragon retreated into the fountain's water. It merged with it and gradually disappeared.

There was a Wolframish laugh from up above and the guards elbowed each other a little—just like schoolboys—when the balcony door closed all on its own.

"Well, at least someone's going to get some excitement tonight," one said, a bit envious.

The tall one nodded. "From what I hear, it's practically every night."

"Seriously?" The third glanced up at the balcony one last time. "Well, don't tell my wife that. Or, I'll be expected to do more of my 'husbandly duty' …and I think once a month is enough."

"Eh? Why is that?"

A shrug. "She gained weight and broke the bed. Can't afford a new one yet."

Wolfram squirmed in The Maou's arms as they neared the canopy bed in the center of the room. A sudden dip, which may or may not have been on purpose from the spirit, made the blond wrap his arms around The Maou's neck to steady himself. But, he was still having difficulties because the spirit was having too much fun teasing him, pinching his bottom and nipping his neck.

"Oi! Nobody pinches my…! Wah…Ha! Ha!"

Fingers tickled him.

He kicked his legs.

Wolfram threw his head back and laughed harder.

It was so funny to think that The Maou would play with him like that. He'd never imagined it. He'd always seen the spirit as a forceful, passionate lover. As someone primal and determined. But, apparently, he could play, too.

Wolfram wiped a tearful eye. How long had it been since he had a lover who would do this with him?

The Maou put Wolfram on his feet, but the bishonen was still chuckling. "…And did you see those guys…? They just couldn't figure out your water dragon! And, then, you said…" He doubled over, resting his hands on his knees. It was still so funny.

"Aye, with thou…dressed in such a fashion…" The Maou reminded him, flipping the half shirt up to reveal Wolfram's bare chest.

That was right. Green eyes widened.

"Oh…Hell!" Wolfram breathed, pulling the cloth down over himself in modesty and curling in a little. "I'd totally forgotten how I was dressed." The red was spreading over his cheeks, ears, and down his throat now. "They must have thought…thought that…and even now…" His expression changed to one of worry, meeting The Maou's black, slitted eyes. "I mean, everyone I come across …thinks that…you and I…you know and…"

Panic. That was what he felt. Something cold arced through his veins.

"My bright one," he said soothingly. There was a calm hand at Wolfram's back.

"I just… I'm not the kind of person who flaunts…" Wolfram sputtered in a tone he hoped sounded stubborn. He'd always had a sense of dignity, of formality. Yes, that would have to change but it was so hard to do with his ego involved.

The Maou placed hands on both sides of Wolfram's face and tilted it up towards him. Green eyes with small tears on the lashes blinked up. And, then, a gentle kiss. Arms wrapped around slim shoulders and the two melted together.

The Maou initiated another kiss, a warm and deep one. Wolfram couldn't help himself. He gave a slight hum in pleasure.

"Happy yet again?" The Maou whispered into his ear.

Wolfram's fingers tugged into the fabric of The Maou's jacket and he smiled thinly at himself. He knew that he was going to have to become stronger and to work harder than this if he was to become a suitable concubinus for The Maou. Downplaying with dignity was one thing. But he was going to have to accept the fact that people saw him as a sexual being instead of a soldier or an ex-prince. This was a reality. But, at least, they no longer looked at him with pity for limping in hallways or slightly stumbling into the garden with Greta on his arm.

That, alone, made his life easier. He could breathe again.

"Yes," Wolfram sighed, leaning into the spirit.

"Then, two gifts have I," The Maou said as he placed a finger under his chin and tilted Wolfram's face up to meet his.

A brief peck of the lips followed.

"Gifts?" Wolfram had never been given a gift from The Maou before and he wondered what, exactly, he would choose for him. The first gift itself mattered greatly —as it was seen as "the beginning" and set the tone, symbolically, for their relationship. The traditional gifts were things like: an obsidian studded comb, a black ribbon, nude etchings, silks, incense, perfume, a small bag of gemstones, food and drink, etc.

The blond waited expectantly as a hand probed the inside pocket of the black jacket. Then, the Maou took Wolfram's hand and placed on his slender, pinkie finger, a silver ring with the design of a water dragon etched into the metal. The modest black stone on top was in the shape of a shield.

Wolfram took his hand and studied the ring closely, very excited with the gift. It was all he could do to keep decorum. "Whoa…! The stone is…a 'maou's tear'!" He held up the ring to the candle on the bedside table. "If you hold a 'maou's tear' up to the light, it looks gray inside…the light passes right through." Green eyes smiled up at him. "They say that you will never cry again if you have one and that the stone protects you from all harm…a bunch of legends, I know, but…still…"

"Pleased?" The Maou purred into his ear. He was standing behind Wolfram with his arms locked around his shoulders now. They felt warm together.

"I love it!" He kept looking at the ring on his finger and shaking his head incredibly. It just didn't seem real to have such a gift. He thought of him. He actually did!

"And you were able to make this…for me…"

A brief hug from behind. "A task quite simple but…a concubinus may only adorn himself with rings for this finger," the spirit said again, taking Wolfram's hand a little sadly and wiggling the smallest finger.

Wolfram understood. Marriage was what The Maou had wanted, not this—not to lower Wolfram in status to become a concubinus, a thing of desire who could be easily tossed aside. But Wolfram needed things this way and The Maou would not deprive him of something that he craved for.

"I don't care which finger," he said, looking over his shoulder at The Maou. The gratitude was there in his eyes. The delight. "This is just…amazing!"

They rocked together a little. "Then, I am pleased as well," The Maou murmured, pressing his cheek closer. "Always will I protect thee. Always will I shelter thee from harm. Believe in my heart and my adoration."

Wolfram, still admiring his ring, whispered, "I could take a little more of that _adoration_ when we're alone together."

"A complaint?" The Maou teased warmly. He toyed with a golden curl, letting the strand slide gently between his finger and thumb.

"Me? Never," he deadpanned.

The Maou barked out a laugh, hearty tones which made Wolfram's twitchy smile turn into a chuckle. Soon enough, his arms were thrown around The Maou's neck, their bodies close together.

"And, now…" The Maou went on with a slight chuckle, "the second gift." He stretched his hand out towards the door and it opened on its own. A silver tray that had been waiting outside in the hallway levitated, surrounded in a familiar, blue haze. The tray entered the room with the door closing behind.

"Wine!" Wolfram said happily, while taking a closer look at it as it neared. The vintage was a fine one from the royal cellar. It was the kind Lady Cheri usually reserved for celebrations. And the two glasses which accompanied were made of cut crystal with the royal crest etched onto them.

The blond took the glass offered to him and eyed it. "This is the kind of thing that only a husband or wife should drink from." He shook his head and then peered up at The Maou. "Someone like me…shouldn't…"

A single finger pressed against his lips, stopping him.

"No more," the spirit warned with an even tone as he took the bottle.

Wolfram nodded and held the rest of the words within his heart. Speaking them would do neither one of them any good. The Maou knew how he felt, knew only too well. Moreover, tonight was about each other, not about reminders of what could not be done because of tradition and decorum.

A pop.

Soon, both glasses were filled with the bright, sparkling drink and The Maou drew Wolfram closer to him, an arm around his waist.

A kiss on the nose. Wolfram wrinkled it, catlike.

A kiss on the cheeks. Wolfram smiled, not being able to contain it.

Their lips drew closer…closer still… Wolfram closed his eyes and tilted his chin up.

"Oh, and a last thing…"

Green eyes opened, slightly annoyed. "…Yes?"

The Maou pointed to the porcelain pitcher next to a basin of water on the small table in a forgotten corner of the room. The water bubbled as though boiling and Wolfram stared, intrigued. A small water dragon appeared from it, leaped out, and tumbled freely into the air. As the ceilings were high in this room, the creature seemed to spiral itself into a warbled-sounding, euphoric state far above Wolfram and The Maou's heads.

The spirit placed his drink down and held Wolfram closer, pointing up at the water dragon. Then, the creature stretched itself out—forming a large, blue-hazed dome with the couple standing in the center of it. Wolfram glanced all around him, astounded. The water seemed to reflect transparent, swirling rainbows on the surface.

The young Mazoku opened his mouth to speak and, then, felt them.

Saw them… Falling, falling…down…

"Snow?"

White snowflakes were fluttering down. His blond hair was graced with the large flakes, a glittering crown in candlelight. The Maou enjoyed gently brushing them off himself while Wolfram, intrigued, placed his palm out, as though accepting an offering…enjoying the moment.

And there they stood, marveling at the snow.

A world of only two.

A snowglobe.


	19. Chapter 19

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Chapter 19

.

Wolfram woke up—again—to the ghastly truth. "Damn it… _absolutely_ _nothing_ happened between us last night," he moaned almost miserably, throwing an arm across his face to block out the light streaming in from the windows. His "maou's tear" ring glowed briefly on his finger when hit by the sunbeam. "…Nothing…" he sighed. Something about that knowledge ate at him. Worse yet, it was way too early for him to deal with the memories of soft kissing and gentle touching in the snow, feeling both cold and warm at once in each other's arms, breathing as one before breaking apart and coming together for the next kiss...and then a hazy sleep.

_But still…_

He wanted more.

The bishonen rolled onto his side, frowning. Was he not trying hard enough? Was that it? Or was he doing his level best to please The Maou first (a kissing relationship) and himself second?

Honestly, Wolfram didn't know what to think at this point.

Bleary-eyed, the blond pushed himself up on one elbow and raked his fingers through his hair roughly. "There has to be a way to let The Maou know that I'm ready…that I've been ready. So, why is he still holding back? It's got to be more than my 'virgin heart' that he speaks of. I keep getting the feeling that it's more than just that."

Wolfram sat up a bit more, shifting his legs and having the usual difficulty with his bad leg and the sideways slump of the mattress. With pushing up on his right arm and a little positioning, he was now comfortably cross legged in bed—until his knee bumped into Yuuri's side. As usual, the double black was sleeping contentedly next him (thus, causing the slump). "And you," the blond said under his breath, "I think you're a problem, too."

A long intake of air was followed by a deep yawn and jerky movements from underneath the silky covers, trying hard to get comfortable again. "Wolf?" Yuuri groaned in a monotone, "It's Sunday. Go back to sleep, 'kay?" He rolled closer to Wolfram's leg and nuzzled it, surprising the blond.

"Eh?" His chin dropped. "Yuuri!"

"Wolf…no more words…just sleep…" The double black king wrapped his arms around Wolfram's right leg and snuggled it like a teddy bear.

"Yuuri? Wha-…What are you…?"

Fingers trailed up his leg—against fine, blond hairs. Wolfram wiggled at that, green eyes wide at the audacity. Was this Yuuri's way of saying that he wanted…? They were both in bed wearing only their black thongs. Could he really be expecting s- ?

~ S-N-O-R-E ~

"Impossible… You're just impossible…!" he fumed, making fists with both hands.

~ S-N-O-R-E ~

"Okay then…" The fire wielder snapped his fingers and every candle in the room burst into flame. Wax dripped down in thick rills. But with it already being dawn, the additional light did little to brighten the room. Briefly, he considered conjuring a fire lion. Maybe that would cause a stir.

"_Yuuri_," he hissed in an undertone as low heeled shoes walked back and forth past Wolfram's bedroom door. _Must be maids_, he thought. _They'll want to come in here and clean up soon._ "Yuuri? Yuuri, wake up."

And, when it appeared that the young king was blissfully back in a deep sleep, Wolfram stabbed him hard on the shoulder with a finger. "Yuuri, I told you to wake up."

The double black waved it off, as though shooing a fly.

"I can't believe this." Wolfram growled out the words to himself, head falling back in frustration. But it wasn't just now. Day in and day out, it felt that no one was really listening to him. And, now, in his own bedroom, he had both Yuuri and The Maou not paying him any mind. He felt aggravated, powerless, and…now that he really thought upon it, the word "dim-witted" came to mind. His element flared within him. Was it really so much to ask to allow him to have some say in his own quarters?

He gritted a "damn" and wriggled.

Those fingers _were not_ going to give it a rest, were they?

Women's voices were on the opposite side of his door with a key placed firmly in the lock. The maids had come to his room last, as usual on a weekend, and the women were talking to each other about the new invention Anissina had created which was supposed to weed the royal vegetable gardens in only minutes.

As though Wolfram cared about that.

Which he didn't.

Then, green eyes sliced their way to Yuuri. Contented Yuuri…arms still wrapped around his leg and sleepy fingers inching upward toward his…

"You deserve this!" Wolfram said and, in a flash, dove on top of the double black. Never mind that they were still wearing their black thongs, as usual. But, with the covers in place across their hips—or barely in place—it gave _quite_ an impression.

"Oh my!" the middle aged Mazoku with an armload of folded linens gasped, plodding three steps into the room only to see Wolfram on top of Yuuri, legs splayed to each side. The double black's sudden "oof" at having Wolfram pouncing on top of him was totally misinterpreted, too, by the younger maid who was toting cleaning supplies in a heavy, wooden bucket. She would have covered her eyes if she could have.

Both blushed furiously.

"Sorry!" "We didn't mean to!" "We'll knock louder next time!" they apologized over their shoulders as they hurried out of the room. The door slammed shut and the feet rushed away—in the direction of the kitchen, Wolfram noted wryly, probably to spread hot gossip among the other domestics. He could just imagine it. It would be something like: "Oi, Alice! Doria! Guess what we just saw!"

Wolfram looked at the closed door. Back in the old days, he would have cared. He would have blushed furiously or wanted to kick Yuuri to get back at him. But, now, Wolfram wasn't concerned in the slightest about that. His reputation had become something different. But, he was still annoyed—annoyed at the double black next to him.

"Wolf?" Ebony eyes looked up at him in shock. "Did those women just…? Do they think that…?" It was embarrassing and hard for him to breathe for a moment (and it wasn't just because the blond was still on top of him, sunny hair trailing down in loose ringlets).

"_Sorry_," Wolfram said in a mock tone meant to match that of the maids. "But, the truth is that you had my leg wrapped up in your arms and your fingers were getting pretty…_personal_." Wolfram, anger subsiding from venting, kicked his good leg in a lazy way, making more of the covers fall to the side. Now, only a triangle of cloth covered both their hips. "So, which would you prefer that they see?"

"Oh," Yuuri returned, a blush coming to him. He could feel the blond folding his palms down on his chest and resting his chin on his hands, peering at him, now, very much like a green-eyed cat.

Wolfram's bare chest was warm. In fact, his whole body was.

"So, I decided that 'me on top'…like we are right now… wouldn't look half as crude as…" The blond didn't need to finish his sentence. "Besides, people already think I only sleep with you in your 'maou' form. The big surprise for them," he motioned at the door with his thumb, "was that the 'usual Yuuri' was having a bit of fun with me, too."

The double black, still self-conscious, nodded shyly at that. But it was in his Japanese nature to not show that side of himself. Even holding hands in public or kissing in front of others would have given the same knee-jerk reaction. But, time and again, no matter how often he tried to explain that cultural difference, Wolfram didn't understand. Or, he didn't want to.

Then, a sigh and Yuuri's attention returned to the blond on top of him.

"Maybe, it was cruel of me, though…now that I look back," Wolfram said, scratching his cheek with an index finger. "I could have just pummeled you hard with my fist to make you let go."

Deep inside of Yuuri, The Maou laughed. Yuuri glared inwardly. "And punching isn't cruel?" Yuuri shot back, starting to get irritated. Wolfram could be so immature sometimes.

This felt like old times.

An impish smirk and an equally impish shrug. He patted a little rhythm on Yuuri's bare chest with his fingers. "It's better than embarrassing my king…and, by extension, The Maou, the man I belong to."

"I…I guess."

Now, that was strange. For a brief moment, before Yuuri turned his head away, Wolfram thought he saw hurt in Yuuri's eyes. Wolfram's lips twitched downward. What did he do this time when all he was trying to do was be nice and lighten the mood? What did he say that was so wrong? Come to think of it, as far as Wolfram was concerned, everything he just said was absolutely true and well accepted—at least, he thought it was.

There were no insults, no name calling…

"What now?" he frowned.

"Nothing," Yuuri lied. He still wouldn't look at him.

"Nothing, hmm?" That "nothing" came far too quickly to suit the fire wielder. Wolfram captured Yuuri's jaw and forced him to turn back. "_Yes_," he said aloud, slowly realizing. "I really did embarrass you with them, didn't I?" the blond asked, making a brief nod at the door. "I know that you and I feel embarrassment intensely…maybe, not over the same things. But we do feel it. Remember when you kept asking me to dance at Rufus' Feast Day? How I felt back then?" Wolfram's face softened slightly. He was right. "Maybe, I should have realized sooner and not reacted so impulsively just now." Wolfram ruffled Yuuri's raven hair for a moment to soothe. He wanted to get rid of this pent-up feeling between them. "I should have thought of another way to wake you. I was being a brat and being unreasonable…just like everyone says…" Raven strands fell between his fingers and he looked down into impossibly dark eyes. "Just like everyone says about me…" More strands fell. "Have always said…"

Their faces grew close. "I apologize…for hurting you," the blond whispered.

Peace between them. Yes, Wolfram would find a way. He had to if his life with The Maou was going to have any resemblance of harmony. And that meant growing up a little and putting a rein on his conceit—taking the first step.

Saying the words.

And Yuuri's face, still so fine-looking, was growing closer—pleasingly so. He could almost melt.

"You're… sorry…?" Yuuri said quietly, still caught in Wolfram's spell.

An apology? A real one from Wolfram? It was so unusual to hear it without him being prodded and forced on all sides, from countless people, to get the words out. To break past that barrier of pride—a thing that Wolfram could easily choke on, he believed—was nothing short of a miracle.

"Wolfram, I…"

The blond bishonen smiled at him and it seemed like magic. There was no hurt, no disappointment…no hint of death. Only life existed there and the promise of something greater. And Yuuri cherished that.

The ex-prince pressed a finger to his lips, kissed it, and dabbed the kiss on the side of Yuuri's cheek—much the same way that he always did with Greta when consoling her. "Things will get better. You'll see. Rumors only last for so long." And, then, to Yuuri's surprise, Wolfram rested his forehead against his own—emerald eyes searching into his own, far too closely. "And Maou," Wolfram whispered in a husky, desirous way, "I await you… I won't embarrass you again, either. In hurting Yuuri, I hurt your reputation, too. I humbly ask forgiveness."

Deep inside, Yuuri could feel a glow, a pulse of strong magic from The Maou as an answer. It was sensuous, longing for the blond splayed atop of him. It almost begged to take over again and to take Wolfram roughly into his arms. And, despite everything, Yuuri couldn't stop himself from growing jealous of it.

Without hesitation, The Maou knew what he wanted.

Wolfram's expression slowly changed as he pushed himself away, now on top—straddling the double black low across the hips. He seemed to be taking in his face with a look of concern but Yuuri didn't understand as to the reason why. Had Wolfram's expression not been so serious, Yuuri would have been self-conscious about their position together (and wearing only their black thong underwear at that). "Something?" Doing his best to sound positive and to keep his voice from cracking was very difficult.

Wolfram reached out his hand and touched the side of the double black's cheek gingerly. "Your eyes, Yuuri…" he breathed.

"What about them?" Absently, Yuuri rubbed an eye with a finger.

"One is the usual and the other is…just like The Maou's."

* * *

Without knocking, Murata entered the Chamber of Boxes at a half-run. He was in a hurry, looking right and left to see if Shinou was loitering there. This was one of his favorite haunts in the temple. And, when Murata tried tracking the spirit's aura, the familiar energy came from this direction.

"Shinou."

_The Original King can be such a pain sometimes_, he thought in exasperation.

"Shinou," he called, an edge in his voice. His eyes lifted, searching the tops of all four boxes that stretched out in a line before him. "I know that you just felt that, too. It's coming from the castle…whatever it is."

Nothing.

Murata could feel his frustration burn. Instead of bellowing, as he wanted to, he stormed forward with a much louder "Shinou! I know you can hear me" barked at the walls.

Behind him, temple maidens scampered past the door. One, finally, closed it on her way—deciding it best that this conversation be kept private. The Great Sage rolled his eyes at her.

"Come out, Shinou." He turned in a tight circle, head up and shouting at the ceiling. "Come and tell me what's going on." He pushed his glasses up on his nose with his middle finger. "Is it you? Are you meddling again?"

With intention, he concentrated, eyes closed, and turned his own aura dark—something that the ancient king's spirit wouldn't care for, especially coming from his beloved sage. And in this holy shrine, or at least as "holy" as Shinou could make it, a dark sage was like having an angry wife—a person _not_ to be ignored.

A melodramatic yawn. "As you wish…"

The shadowy outline of a figure appeared—sitting on a box marked "Hellfire on Frozen Tundra." The clothes he wore were garish even for the age of antiquity and the fur-lined cape was carelessly swung over one shoulder. The face was an older version of Wolfram von Bielefeld's with the exception that the eyes were blue and cold.

The smile was the same—cold.

"What may I do for you, my beloved sage?" And then, a wink.

"Cheeky bastard," he mumbled under his breath. Murata then placed a hand on his hip and demanded, "What's going on at the castle? It's something. And I'm sure you know all about it. So…"

"Am I the cause?" Shinou asked almost mockingly, jumping nimbly down from where he was sitting.

Toying with Murata Ken could be so much fun.

"The answer to that is…_no_." The Original King's handsome image faded and then reappeared. Now, he was behind Murata, close enough to stand in his aura and to tone the color down to a deep purple. A purple aura symbolized earthly power as well as high spiritual attainment. And, on a good day, Murata's natural aura was the color of a glass of wine. It flowed in that way, too.

"But Yuuri Heika is…" Shinou whispered into Murata's ear, making the sage repress a shiver. "Our young, boy-king and his elemental spirit seem to be at odds again…in much the same way we often are." He stepped in front of the sage and met eyes with him meaningfully, "…Struggles that are more than what they seem..."

An irritating grin followed.

Murata stiffened his shoulders. "Like us?" Then, he shook his head, denying it. "We have a… _history_. That's why we're…" With frustration, he searched for a word but couldn't find one to describe how they were together. Too much had happened. "That's why we're like this," he finally said, looking at The Original King with a glower. "I think you're wrong. I don't think Shibuya and his elemental spirit are struggling over the same things we are…and always will."

The last little comment depressed Murata—especially since Shinou didn't dispute the fact that they were locked into a never-ending whirlwind of culpability that outsiders could never comprehend. Maybe, that was their soul-bond. _What a horrible thought. _He pushed his glasses up on his nose again.

"Truly?" Shinou cocked his head to one side, vastly amused now. "And, if a third person was involved…? Beautiful, stubborn…" He reached out a hand and almost touched the sage's face. "…blond…?"

"No," Murata breathed incredulously. The young man put a hand to his aching head. "I thought this was all settled ages ago…when von Bielefeld chose to become a concubinus."

The Original King chuckled knowingly, ghosting his hand against Murata's hair—pretending as though he could still touch his precious person without the use of strong magic, herbs, and incantations. "If the young concubinus had been _claimed_, then his aura would have been tinted pink…even briefly? Am I not right? Did you not even think to look for that?"

No, he had not and Murata could have kicked himself. He'd just been too busy at the castle working on other things to support Yuuri and the kingdom. "So, all this time…you're saying that he's…"

"Remained 'virgin'…in the ancient ways of looking at the word," Shinou chuckled under his breath and gave a pompous jaunt around the room. "Though, with a face such as his, I really cannot see why. Depriving oneself of pleasure…both in taking and giving…"

Something inside the sage grew cold. Murata's glasses flashed—hiding his eyes. He made a tight fist at his side and rounded on him. "That's because he's not you." The words were low and almost venomous.

The Original King, taken slightly aback, buffed his nails against his chest and gave a seemingly disinterested glance at his sage. "Well… Perhaps, when casting the role of 'Wolfram von Bielefeld,' I should have found a soul that was more in keeping with my own personality." He turned his blue eyes to the Hellfire box. "But, at the time, I found his loyalty and his sense of duty to be beyond reproach. And the new king of Shin Makoku would need both of those qualities in a companion."

"A companion, not a lover," Murata countered sharply. "There is a difference. Or, do I need to remind you of Rufus?"

Shinou's mouth formed a thin line. "Of course not."

"What you've created here is another triangle and I'm not sure how it's going to work out. Not to mention all that von Bielefeld has been through. I'm sure his soul is as ragged and weary as his body…no matter what color his aura is today…or any other day."

An acknowledging nod. "Too true…but that goes back to free will. And, as you are well aware, I cannot force someone to love."

Murata's glasses flashed again. "But, you can give the illusion, can't you? You did to Lady Cheri _enough times_. Especially if it served in your best interest or amusement."

The young sage's face was so earnest now about love. It was beyond cute—absolutely adorable. Shinou decided to forgive him. After all, he was his sage.

Shinou gave almost an apologetic smile at Murata. "My, my…we are testy today."

"Shinou, I'm trying to…" The black haired sage suddenly took in a sharp breath and placed his palm against his chest. There it was again, a tightness in his upper body and a light-headed feeling as well as a strong, magical tidal pull. He pointed in the direction of the castle once more. "Something has to be done about this. I can feel power building. Tremendous…power… This can't be good and you know it."

"It's too late," Shinou said with a sigh, dropping all pretenses. Fun and game time was over and he missed it already. "I can't intervene at this point. Events are in motion once more and even I cannot predict the ultimate outcome."

Murata turned away and made tracks for the door. "I've had enough," he gritted out. In all likelihood, there was not much time left. But if he could get to the castle, he might be able to do something—anything. What good was a sage anyway if he wouldn't at least try? An attempt—any attempt—would be more productive than just standing in place, arguing with Shinou.

"Damn you, Shinou…and damn me…for trying to reason with you."

He wrenched the ancient door back, making the hinges groan.

"Oh, fine," the Original King called after him, "if you're so determined…" Murata, still frustrated, turned abruptly and saw Shinou fold his arms against his chest defensively, head looking down. "While it is impossible to stop what is in motion, you can, at least, make yourself useful by getting chalk, a collection of magical herbs—that I will name unto you—and a book of ancient spells that Ulrike has in her private library. Once we have our magic circle drawn, then, the real work will begin."

The sage looked at The Original King with lingering suspicion. "I thought you didn't want to help. Suddenly, now, you do." Shinou was up to something. He had to be.

Was he still toying with him?

The Original King flipped his cape back and paced a little. "It's not a matter of 'want.' It's a matter of time…or, as you said earlier, '…enough times.' And the more I think about it, some time would, indeed, do a great amount of good."

"I don't follow," Murata frowned with hands on his hips.

A blond eyebrow raised. "Just get the chalk, the herbs, the book, and draw the damn circle." His smirk gradually grew into the usual smile, toothy and wide. "And do hurry. It's quite rude to make someone wait."

No explanations.

Typical.

Glowering, Murata Ken turned back for the door and bolted from the room for the chalk. It was kept close by.

_The Original King can be such a pain sometimes_, he thought with irritation.

His opinion hadn't changed.

Then again, it hadn't in nearly 4000 years.

* * *

"I'm at my limit."

Wolfram stumbled out of the bed when he heard those words. They belonged to The Maou, and were in his voice, but they were coming from Yuuri's mouth. The room was bright with blue energy bands coming from Yuuri's body—glowing, pulsing. One of Yuuri's eyes was still in a snake-like slit form and the other seemed rounded but unnaturally wide. The double black seemed to be struggling with himself and cried out in a deep voice. And, seeing this terrified Wolfram. Was Yuuri in pain?

Another burst of energy and a new, heavy gale thrashed the room.

Wolfram, blond hair blowing wild, was at a total loss. He glanced at the door, wondering if he should call for help. But, if he did, would the guards outside even hear him? There was a distinctive droning sound coming from somewhere in his own room. No, it was everywhere. And he sensed the walls were engulfed in magic—the kind he'd never experienced before.

His own fire magic was nothing compared to it.

Yuuri got out of bed, his feet not touching the stone floor but, instead, hovering a few centimeters above it. His hair grew long and was tossed in a breeze.

Wolfram felt a shockwave that was not unlike something Gwendal could conjure when truly incensed. The blond braced himself by holding onto the far post of the canopy bed as everything in the room rattled and swayed. Wolfram's inkpot fell to the floor, smashing into pieces, sending blue ink splatters all around. Parchment papers flew and the heavy curtains pendulated. Candles melted themselves down to the wicks. The room's glow brightened. And, in the next second, Yuuri—innocent, kind, Yuuri—seemed to step a half-pace to the side of The Maou. Now, wrapped tightly in bands of energy, they both stood before Wolfram, shoulder to shoulder, blurred together, at the same time.

The slitted eyes of The Maou turned to Yuuri, heated. "How long have we waited for this bright one to be treasured? Many chances have I given unto you. And had thou done so, even once, thy choice would have been honored."

The young double black looked to Wolfram with a mixture a fear and desperation. "I know, Wolf, that I haven't been good to you…not always. And I'm not perfect…"

The blond let go of the post and hobbled cautiously forward. _Yuuri and… The Maou!_ The two were in the same place, in a way. He didn't understand it, but what he did know was that it wasn't natural.

They needed Gissela…or maybe Günter knew of a way to put them back together… or Murata… Shinou? Such names filled his head as Yuuri spoke.

"Yuuri," Wolfram breathed, helpless. He took another wobbly step forward.

"We have awaited for thou…manliness, young heika!" The Maou admonished, face twisted in anger.

The double black king turned at that, looking up defiantly into his eyes. "No, that's enough! And I'm tired of you saying stuff like that," he returned. "And let me tell you something else… I'm not sure what you mean by 'manliness,' but I do know this. Wolfram wouldn't want anything to be forced. I know him." Yuuri glanced at the ex-prince standing before them. "Wolf would wait…for something good and true and real. Because real feelings…real love…" He reached a hand out to the blond. "That's worth waiting for…when the time is right."

"My concubinus," the spirit returned, slapping the hand away "he most certainly is. And, thou shalt not have him."

Yuuri locked eyes with Wolfram but his words were for the ancient spirit when he said, "That's not your call. Wolfram belongs to Wolfram."

The fire wielder stood before Yuuri and The Maou—stunned. Yes, he needed the double black and probably always would. First loves never truly die away; they become something sweeter as memories of days long ago. Yet, he had to face facts. As painful as it would be to watch, Yuuri would truly be better off with someone else for the greater good. A king should have his heart's desire, after all. And Wolfram had said to Yuuri that he wanted him to be happy. He meant it. So, there it was. The Maou claimed to love and desire him, too, but was far too honorable. No matter how many times Wolfram offered himself up, The Maou seemed to side-step it—to give the opportunity to back out. Maybe, it wasn't a matter of waiting for Yuuri's "manliness" or a "virgin" heart to grow. Maybe, he seemed to know that Wolfram was offering more than what he could truly give—his whole heart.

In the past, Wolfram had humbly agreed to "half of a heart" by accepting only The Maou's affections, but…

The simple, undeniable truth was…

"I want you both and…I love you... both," Wolfram whispered in realization. What a fool he was. But twin love, such as his, made him foolish. And Yuuri and The Maou in this blurred, mutated form would probably die. He didn't know for certain, but his soldier's instinct spoke of death. But, regardless, he would find a way to save them. To keep them safe… It was his life's goal. He would make that his place in this world. Before his own life and safety—they came first.

And always would.

"Please," Wolfram pleaded, raising his hands—one to Yuuri and one to The Maou. "don't do this to each other. Don't argue and…"

The Maou tore his threatening eyes from Yuuri once he sensed Wolfram's movements. The palms open, the arms wide and accepting, taking them both in.

"NO!" The Maou commanded, slitted eyes focusing on the sparkling ring now. Wolfram's ring. The maou's tear.

It was never designed for this.

"NO!"

Magic clashed.

A flash of brilliant, pure white light filled the room and it tore the scream from his throat. In an instant, Wolfram's body was thrown back violently onto the carpet. His bad leg twisted and his body rolled as everything shook brutally again and the ring spewed out blinding sparks of magic. The Maou's eyes widened as three huge rips tore into the room—gaping open and revealing nothing beyond but cold, black void. It seemed that the air was now being directed into these dark, yawning holes.

Wolfram's sunny hair was being tossed harshly from where he was lying. The double black looked down at him and saw no blood. But there was no way to tell how badly he was injured. Then, Yuuri turned his head back to The Maou again. "We've gotta do something!" Yuuri shouted—yelling over the sound of gusting, rushing air.

A grimace. "Thou art bound to me by strong magic!" he returned, straining and pulling away from their ties to prove his point. "Done it cannot!" he heaved.

"We can't accept defeat!" the double black yelled, searching for a way as objects he barely recognized blew past.

The room grew cold and the three rips began to fray along the edges—to grow.

And, from out of the corner of the room, a black outline quickly filled itself in.

The figure cupped a hand to his mouth. "What a mess you've made!" Shinou shouted over the gale, his eyes taking in the room with alarm. "I should have known the two of you, when left to own devices, would do such a thing."

Shinou reached down and, majestically, took Wolfram's broken body into his arms. It was like holding a newborn.

"Wolfram," Yuuri whimpered, but the name was taken away by the gale.

Another gust of wind and Shinou struggled to stay on his feet—not the kind of elegant stance that he was used to. The Original King closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated—forming golden lights around himself that grew into three ribbons. They flew forward and were quickly engulfed in darkness. Then, one by one, the Original King turned to the black rips hovering in mid air and they healed over—once again revealing stone walls and shreds of expensive, hand-woven tapestries. And the harsh winds died away to nothing.

The fabric of this world was such a delicate thing.

"Should those three have gotten out of hand," he admonished, "this world would have torn itself into oblivion…simply because the two of you could not come to terms!" He barked the last part.

This was serious.

A shimmering blue archway appeared behind Shinou and he stood there for a moment looking every inch the hero Shin Makoku had always painted him out to be. Wolfram was still cradled to The Original King's chest, one arm dangling sadly down. Blue eyes flicked to the bed. A white blanket levitated and then flew to Wolfram, covering his frail body—swaddling it.

Shinou concentrated again, casting another fuzzy ball of golden light. It drifted to Yuuri and The Maou.

Hard, blue eyes moved back and forth between the pair standing before him. Then, he turned on his heel. "Pull yourselves together and follow me," Shinou ordered prior to stepping through the archway, "before my descendant's life ebbs away…and the fault being entirely yours."

The ball hit Yuuri and The Maou—sizzling into their bones and blinding both momentarily.

Then, Shinou stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, and another thing…"

* * *

Murata sat back on the floor, cross-legged. He was breathing heavily as he wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. He had managed to create the magic circle that Shinou needed just in time. And did he get any thanks for that? Of course not.

Typical Shinou.

"Selfish to the core."

Off to the far right, a blue archway appeared once more and Murata stood, brushing some of the left-over chalk off his trousers. This next part would probably not be fun. Then again, most confrontations weren't.

From somewhere, a single drop of water must have splashed. The sound echoed.

The sage's eyes widened when he saw Shinou emerging from the arch with Wolfram wrapped in his arms. "Von Bielefeld!" Murata blurted out, taken aback. He redirected his attention to Shinou. "What happened to…?"

The Original King silenced him with a single look. And, by the expression, Murata knew not to push the matter. So, he stepped back into the shadows and waited. For, he knew, it would not be for long.

The sound of a drop of water splashing into a pool.

Next, through the archway was Yuuri, looking more miserable than he'd ever been in his entire life. But, once the double black stepped foot onto the chalk and herb-lined magic circle, "Yuuri" split back into two—with both Shibuya Yuuri and The Maou standing side by side with Shinou in the center of the circle, balancing Wolfram's body on a transparent dais using his own white magic.

The outer edges of the circle, braided lines all dancing in unending unison, began to pulse with a healing glow and, then, spindly lines brought the magic forth- quickly filling the inner circle with sparks and a soft green haze.

Shinou hovered his palms over Wolfram, slowly, from head to toes.

The white blanket covered Wolfram, swaddling him. And all Yuuri could do was stand on the outer edges of the circle, wanting to hold him and knowing that it was not possible. Shinou had made that decree seconds before they'd stepped into the archway to come to the temple.

The Maou stiffened and lifted his head, giving a menacing look to The Original King. "Heal my bright one. I have waited long for Yuuri Heika to claim him." He sliced a dark look at Yuuri. "But now I truly shall if he is unwilling…if his heart cries 'no'."

"Wha-? I'm not unwilling," Yuuri countered abruptly, hastily turning from The Maou to Shinou because he felt bullied, "I'm just… I'm just…a kid. And giving your heart to someone may be easy for you, but it is not for me. I have to know that what I feel is real…and forever." His eyes drifted to the sad blond in the center of the circle. "I'm not sure you and I see 'forever' the same way, Wolf. But I'm willing, now, to let you teach me…if you still want to."

Shinou flipped his cape over his shoulder, moving back to Wolfram's body with a green glow returning to his hands. "He said he loved you both…words that I heard… Am I not mistaken, Maou?" He raised an eyebrow at the elemental spirit and The Maou had to, begrudgingly, admit to that.

Wolfram loved them _both_…wanted them _both_…

"But, love is no longer the issue here," Shinou continued grimly. "What your 'love' has done is…"

Shinou stepped away as a diaphanous cloud billowed upward from Wolfram's heart, a gently swaying thing such as gauzy dandelion down. The point where it touched his chest had a slightly golden halo to it.

The Maou looked upon it and gasped sharply, knowing what it was.

Yuuri glanced at him and back again, concerned.

"His soul…I know…It is flowing freely now," Shinou said grimly. He passed his hands over a second time and caught his fingers on a red string broken free from under the maou's tear ring. With his face set, Shinou pulled the string very gingerly with his fingertips explaining, "Your battle with each other has done more than simply tear his soul from his body, I fear."

Yuuri's eyes widened at that, horrified. "More than that?"

"See here?" The Original King held up a broken thread, rich and crimson—not unlike something a scarletwork weaver would use. "You have torn his fate line as well. At one point, it was strongly connected to you, Yuuri Heika. But, no longer." Blue eyes looked down into his open palm as the red thread began to wither and fade. There was nothing he could do about it. "So, should my descendant die this day, it is unlikely that you shall ever meet up again…either in the next life or the heavenly realm. He will be lost to you, Yuuri Heika."

"It was…an accident," Yuuri said with pain in his voice. "We didn't…didn't know…"

He couldn't lose Wolfram now. They had both come too far and had been too many things to each other. And that had to hold true for The Maou as well—even if Yuuri couldn't remember most of their times together. For, Wolfram had admitted it openly and plainly—he loved them.

_Loved…_

But through sheer touch, he had been reduced to this.

Wolfram's body, pale and slender, wrapped in white. His head was tilted to one side, eyes half open. Only a small sliver of green could be seen. His lips, parted.

A marionette with strings cut.

"No, tis not an act of fate…" The Maou countered coldly. "The ones at fault…are we. Taking the life of one who would, with pleasure, give all for us." The elemental spirit narrowed his eyes at Wolfram's cut thread. For the first time, he, the spirit of justice, had been involved with a selfish and unjust act. Severing a fate line was something that easily angered both the ancestral spirits of this world and those of the heavenly realm. The Maou knew he would certainly have to answer for that even if Yuuri, somehow, didn't. Authority and godly magic, such as his, came with accountability and consequences. Not to mention competing for the heart of a mortal was such a petty thing to do. But, for the moment, all of this was the least of his concerns.

"Of course, your fate string has been severed as well," Shinou said to The Maou. Stating the obvious was never something he liked but he thought it worth mentioning. "Now, it only connects you to Yuuri Heika and his descendants."

"Descendants?" Yuuri parroted, looking to Shinou. "You mean…children?"

Shinou hovered his hands over Wolfram's heart, attempting to somehow cushion the soul and to shift it back into the body, its vessel. Sadly, the damage was far worse than he'd seen in his visions and he knew he was only going through the motions by trying. "Yes, with the one before us buried in Bielefeld, you will be free to marry." Unblinking, Shinou's blue eyes turned up to the stone ceiling, seemingly able to peer through it. "In time, you will be able to forget him. Your life will be long and fruitful. Many black haired children do I see playing in the gardens of Blood Pledge Castle."

"No," Yuuri whispered miserably, shaking his head.

Wolfram's worst fear: being discarded, being forgotten. Replaced by a woman Yuuri would love more than life itself. That was it, wasn't it? And children. No matter how hard Wolfram tried, he could never give his husband a single one.

"You might even name one of them 'Wolfram' to ease your conscience." This time, Shinou's wicked smirk returned to him. And it only grew when Yuuri shouted, "I told you NO!"

Roughly, The Maou turned to Yuuri, not liking the disrespect shown to The Original King. Spirits, such as they, deserved better. They deserved a measure of civility, if nothing else. "Vexed my little king? What would thou have him do?" But it was clear that The Maou was just as upset as Yuuri was. Hurting just as much.

"Yes, Yuuri Heika," Shinou chimed in. "What do you want?"

Yuuri couldn't take his eyes off of Wolfram. "What…I want…"

The Original King's features grew hard. Then again, alive or dead, he was never a very patient soul. "Well?"

"I want…I want," Yuuri demanded, looking upon Shinou with new-found determination, "…the impossible!"

"Heal him?" Shinou returned obstinately and it was more than clear where Wolfram got that stubborn streak. "I cannot unite what you two have willingly severed."

"We've got to try something!" The double black waved his arms in frustration. And, this time, he could feel The Maou next to him joining in that opinion with a low, determined "aye" which resembled a growl.

"As it is now," Shinou stated, "it cannot be done."

"No," Murata said calmly, walking from the shadows and making his presence known for the first time. "The Twenty-Seventh Maou of Shin Makoku has made a royal decree that we deliver…'the impossible'." He eyed the archway but spoke to Shinou when he said, "So, stop dawdling and tell them of your plan." He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I grow tired of waiting."

"Well…" Slightly embarrassed, Shinou coughed into his fist. The game was up, but no matter. He had learned all he needed to learn from Yuuri Heika and The Maou. Wolfram's feelings were returned. It was a one-sided love no more.

Now, Shinou was willing to help them to the fullest. This would not be a waste of his magic or strength. For, the last thing he wanted was to save his own descendant only to have his life go back to the way it was before.

"But you do realize, Yuuri Heika, that all magic comes at a price—knowledge gained and knowledge lost. The paths we walk and those not taken?" He made grand gestures that resembled something taken directly out of a theatre.

Grimly, the double black thumbed at The Maou. "Yes, I'd figured that out already." He gave a sidelong glance to the elemental spirit and got a hard look in return. "Just tell me what I…no, what 'we' need to do and we'll do it."

The Maou turned to Shinou and agreed, "I, also, shall submit to any task for the sake of my bright one."

This time, the Original King actually chuckled. "Even if that means sharing him?" Blond eyebrows wiggled boyishly. "For, if your fate lines are reconnected…"

Now, Yuuri realized the implications. "Yes," he agreed. He would have to take responsibility for his relationship with Wolfram. But his heart craved nothing else.

The Maou brightened a little. "Aye…to have him return to my side."

"Our side," Yuuri corrected.

The Maou pursed his lips. "As ye hath said."

The sound of a drop of water splashing into a pool echoed. Yuuri scanned the room for the source of the sound but could only determine that it came from the direction of the arch.

_That's strange._

Shinou raised his hand toward the archway and it blurred, a blue-black sea swam within it—stretching outward with a sky so blue it hurt to look at it. The archway's energy pulsed threateningly as the "sea" became "land" and the land grew lush and green. Shadows walked back and forth within. Shinou closed his eyes to focus, to control it. Murata's aura touched his, telling Shinou that his beloved sage was standing by his side. _As it should be_, he thought.

A tug-of-war.

A desire to control, to make the archway obey.

Shinou grinned madly as magic ran through him.

This was going to be fun.

* * *

Yuuri and The Maou began to merge into one as they approached, now armed with an ancient sword entrusted to them by Shinou himself. It had been The Original King's favorite with an oval, lapis jewel embedded into the hilt. Blue bands of energy faded and, within a few steps, only the double black's familiar outline was made visible against the brightness of the archway.

"You must become 'one' _again_," Murata called after, "to be one, to act as one…if this plan is to work out."

"Yeah, yeah… teamwork, I know," Yuuri said under his breath as he crossed through with the sound of water rippling this time.

"And you have only until sunset!" he called after them, hands cupped to the sides of his mouth, as Yuuri's youthful image disappeared. "And may this plan succeed…" He turned his dark eyes to Wolfram. "For your sake, von Bielefeld, as well as that of our king."

* * *

A voice bellowed, "Lieutenant Luca?"

As one, both Wolfram and his second looked up from the papers.

"Lieutenant Luca?" A wave followed it.

The Mazoku made a face and shouted back, "Who gave you permission to roar my name from the opposite side of the lake?"

The corporal just stood there, looking dumb and confused. Should he answer or not? It was probably a rhetorical question to begin with so…

Wolfram chuckled under his breath and pretended to read a particularly fascinating percentage rate written at the bottom of page three. He could practically _hear_ his lieutenant fuming when the voice called from across the water, "I'll come to you, then!"

The brown haired Mazoku sparked light from his fingertips. "I think I'm going to throttle Jenkins…has a noggin but no brains in it worth a damn."

Wolfram glanced up from his papers and stage-whispered the golden words "honey wagon."

With devilish grin coming to him, Luca agreed a little too enthusiastically "Yes, I don't think he even knows what one is, being from such a wealthy, noble family."

A smirk from Wolfram. "It's about time someone educated him."

"I'll get right on it."

The blond Mazoku added mockingly, "I'm sure someone will…maybe, a lot of someones."

There was another gust of wind and Wolfram worked to steady his papers. More crunching of grass. Boots trudging up behind him at a quicker pace this time. Something else must have gone awry. Wolfram could see a shadow when he glanced to his right—a long shadow of one of his men in uniform.

"Hm?" The blond turned to look over his shoulder. "What do you need?"

A steel blade plunged at Wolfram's back and was countered by a sharp, hand-etched sword with a twinkling, blue jewel embedded into the hilt.

"Jaeger Barth!" Yuuri roared, enraged. He held the sword in a ready position and with an offensive stance, just as Conrad had always taught him to. Never did he think he'd have reason to use it, but Wolfram was all the reason he'd ever need. He knew that now.

"Yuuri Heika?" Barth returned in utter astonishment. Wasn't he at the castle? But the man quickly recovered, swung his regulation sword wildly, and delivered a savage blow that Yuuri was able to block.

"Yuuri!" Wolfram cried before his soldier's instincts kicked in, forcing himself to take steps back to gain better position. He would rescue the double black before anything more could happen. All he needed was a clear opening for his blade and a compact, high-burn fireball. He placed two fingers to his temple, summoning up his element. The blond's heart was beating fast and furiously. He deeply craved Jaeger Barth's death—for attacking him from behind like a coward and for being fool enough for battling with this country's kind, naïve king.

Losing Yuuri. No, there was no way in Hell that was going to happen.

"This is for leering at my fiancé!" Yuuri shouted, swinging hard and meeting with the metal of Barth's sword. Metal impacting metal jolted them both, but Yuuri didn't care. He didn't even feel it. "I know all about the way you've been looking at him…" They met swords again. "… Longingly!"

The double black made a smooth and fluid transition into his next stance, left foot forward.

"Wha-?" Wolfram's concentration was broken by the words "fiancé" and "longingly" coming from Yuuri's mouth and he simply stood and gaped—as did Wolfram's Elite Guard. They knew full well not to interfere now. This was a matter of honor between men over Wolfram's reputation as well as his own as king. Moreover, he was not using the power of The Maou. He was fighting with distinction on a level playing field—which gave Yuuri higher regard among those gathered around.

"This is for trying to hurt Wolfram!" His heart blazed and he delivered a blow with even more power behind it—the hilt briefly above Yuuri's black collar appearing as only a blur. And, while the sword was weightier than a baseball bat, he realized that he was able to maneuver it with some skill. He shouted, "And they were right! You weren't suited for this position...if _even I_ can beat you!"

There was a distinct muttering among Wolfram's men at that. It was common knowledge that the double black was not a born swordsman but had the power of The Maou to back him up. So, the respect was there even if Yuuri's talents were somewhat lacking. But, still, the insult held true among the men.

Yuuri continued on—sword held in position, just as Conrad had always taught him, and with subtle movements, or instincts, given to him by The Maou, he did well. He could definitely feel the spirit's presence in moments when Jaeger Barth's sword approached too closely in badly aimed thrusts.

The Maou and Yuuri: At last, they were working as one.

The clang of metal and the grunting of both young men continued as Wolfram found himself standing helplessly on the sidelines. Yuuri seemed to be handling himself well—almost too well—and his face held such resolve. It was almost like the duel the two of them fought years ago when they first met. But this was, of course, much different. Back then, Yuuri had things to prove and he had not yet really become a part of Shin Makoku—a king in name only, really. Now, Yuuri was acting as "king" and as "fiancé." And he was holding his own remarkably.

"To Hell with you, weak king!" Barth heckled, sweat pouring off of him. It soaked his once pristine uniform—underarms, throat, and down the chest. He raised his sword, taking in sharp breaths, as he positioned himself into the ox stance.

Something Wolfram had tried to teach him…and failed. The man looked utterly ridiculous, legs too wide and sword out of position.

Another pathetic, wild swing. And, this time, he laughed and pointed at Yuuri for wisely taking a few paces back. "Fool!" He met eyes with Wolfram briefly and then taunted, "No, it isn't fool, is it? What's the word you use? It's…_wimp_! Right?"

"Wimp?" Black eyes narrowed and the sword was repositioned in his hands, knuckles tight. He took the plow position, sword blade angled up. "Only one person has the right to call me that. And it isn't you! So, time to end this!" Yuuri declared, seeing an opening and taking it.

Wolfram looked on, almost holding his breath.

The men all leaned forward, not wanting to miss anything. They were watching history happen.

With skill and placing as much power behind it as possible, Yuuri swung—knocking the sword out of Barth's hand, which went flying. Then, he lowered his own sword and punched Barth in the face as hard as he could—making sure that the first two knuckles of his right fist connected with the brown haired Mazoku's cheekbone. There was a clear and distinct _POW_ as fist and cheek connected.

"Okay…that really _hurt_. It's not like in the movies…when you punch someone with _all_ of your strength behind it," he hissed to himself as tears came to the corners of his eyes. Flicking his hand a few times only lessened the pain a little bit.

Still rubbing his aching hand, Yuuri looked down at the crumpled body lying at his feet and ordered, "Somebody, take out the trash!"

From where he stood, at a very safe distance, Wolfram's youngest man, Jenkins, asked hesitantly, "Uhhh….sire? You're not going to finish him off?" It seemed so strange. For, it was tradition among royalty to do so—a fine lesson to anyone who would even entertain the idea of taking a monarch's life.

Wolfram stepped in, giving Jenkins a hard glare for even speaking up. "Do not question your king. Do as he says. Understood? Or, you'll be spending the next six months on latrine duty! And I'll be more than willing to notify your family about that distinct honor."

"S-Sir." He saluted back, frightened at the prospect.

Cheerfully, four volunteers from Wolfram's Elite Guard crowded around and gathered up "the trash." And as they worked, dragging the body by arms and legs, Yuuri took Wolfram into his arms, holding him close—relieved. "Never mind that, Wolf. The most important part is… Are you really okay?"

Some of the men could barely contain their snickers while watching the unusual, royal display of affection with furtive glances. Wolfram simply stood rooted to the spot, blood red in the face, and eyes just a little too wide to be natural. "Y-Yurri? I…I'm fine."

Was this really Yuuri? A sword fight and now…hugs? Words of concern?

The double black glanced down at Wolfram's hand. The maou's tear ring was gone. In fact, it never existed. The double black smiled at that and closed his eyes briefly, still holding the blond in his arms.

"Sorry, I know everything that just happened may seem really weird…and…" His attention was suddenly drawn toward the horses. "Weird…and…uhh…yeah…" He narrowed his eyes, seemingly searching for something—scanning.

His expression was so detached, not the usual bright Yuuri at all.

"Yuuri?" Wolfram said cautiously, but got no response from the double black. Green eyes searched, staring in the same direction in the hopes of making out whatever it was. But there was nothing out of the ordinary.

Looking. Probing. Seeking out.

His face said, "Found it." And, to Wolfram's total astonishment, Yuuri gave another brief, warm hug before letting go.

"There's something else I've got to deal with." But the voice was not his. It was The Maou's.

With swift, hard footfalls and a seemingly resolute gate, Shibuya Yuuri trudged off to the grove of shady trees where the horses were being watered and the supplies were kept. An open water barrel had been left next to a small, shabby wagon still loaded down with salt, hay, carrots, and apples. Yuuri reached toward the barrel, as though scooping up water, and effortlessly conjured a water sphere into his palm as he passed by. The cool, clear globe spun in his hand with purpose. And, within the next two paces, the double black pushed aside some heavy shrubs—dirt-covered roots now in mid-air—and walked off.

Wolfram's heart began beating wildly when he saw it happen and he ran after the double black, arms pumping. The other soldiers did, too, noticing with great amazement that Yuuri had, with each step, transformed himself more and more into The Maou.

Dark clouds suddenly gathered high above, blocking the sunlight and making the sweltering day something far from it starting with only a single, impressive blast of cool wind. This distracted Wolfram for a few steps, an almost frightened gaze at the sky. Then, he forced himself to focus.

He had to keep running.

Long shadows on the ground faded and grey skies loomed. But no matter.

"CUR!" The Maou roared, turning the water sphere into a water dragon that had wrapped its tail around the wrist and forearm of the right arm. The petit dragon opened its jaws to reveal two large fangs and rows of sharp, icy teeth. It hissed a warning.

In the distance, lightning danced menacingly. Thunder was like canon fire.

Behind The Maou, Wolfram and his men stopped abruptly. Now, simply gathered together and waiting to see what The Maou would do.

Chadwick, who was sitting on the ground next to three very inebriated guards sipping from tin cups, suddenly stared up in dismay. Absently, he dropped the bottle of wine he'd been holding because The Maou, the genuine person, was hovering over him with livid, slitted eyes and teeth bared.

"Thou art the villain who has planned this!"

The ground produced tremors while blue and white bands of energy emerged once more, encircling The Maou. Chadwick's wine bottle was emptying its contents and rolling back and forth in a drunken semicircle. Four other bottles, all empty, tumbled out of the bushes next to them—where they'd been hidden away. The leaves of the trees around them trembled violently and even the drunks next to Chadwick scrambled clumsily to get some distance. The Maou decided to help them, flicking his hand and casting the idiots into the nearest tree—a massive, one hundred year old oak.

Bones crunched.

"Deal with such scum!" he ordered to Wolfram who was standing directly behind him. The blond nodded shakily, not believing what he was witnessing, and quickly issued directions to his number two.

"I…I've done nothing! I beg mercy, great Maou of Shin Makoku." Chadwick, who'd gone white in the face, held his hands together as though praying.

"Nothing?" Snake-like slits widened at that, anger boiling. He knew from Yuuri and the evidence as well as the official reports he'd read that the blame for this day could be pinned upon only one person. And that scheming, conniving ass was sitting right at his feet, pleading innocence.

Lies. The Maou hated them.

"I shall see thee sit on a spike… thou whoreson pox-marked puttock!"

Without warning, The Maou snatched Chadwick by the front of his clothes and pulled him to his feet with the full intention of looking into his eyes while he died—to simply blast the man into particles of dust to be scattered along the lakeside instead of "sitting him on a spike" as he'd threatened. But Yuuri fought with the spirit for control and demanded reason over meaningless vengeance. And The Maou had to listen even though he "liked it not" and demanded "justice."

_But…justice for something that never happened…?_ Yuuri asked The Maou. _Thanks to us, we saved Wolf. He's okay now._ And, at that point, the spirit backed away. (Though the small water dragon did make a hostile lunge at Chadwick's throat before transforming into an instant puddle on his polished boots.)

As his men looked on, Wolfram took three paces to the left to get a better view and was ever so thankful to see that Yuuri was slowly returning. His face became rounder, body slightly shorter, and shoulders narrowed. He still had Chadwick by the front of his clothes, though, and he announced for all to hear: "Listen! Everything that happened today was a plot by Chadwick!"

That brought a concerned murmur among the group. The charge was serious, indeed.

"It's true," Yuuri went on. "He knew that Jaeger Barth had been dismissed from Wolfram's Elite Guard. So, Chadwick got the guards drunk and convinced Barth to come here disguised in his old uniform. Then, Barth could seek revenge."

"No, please… I…uh…" Chadwick stumbled over his words but a sharp look from Yuuri shut him up.

Wolfram shook his head at that, stepping forward to stand by Yuuri's side. "I don't understand. Why bother?" Green eyes searched Chadwick, wondering why one of his own men would betray him. With Barth, the motives were explicable. But, as far as he knew, Chadwick was someone who respected him.

"Tell him!" the double black demanded. Yuuri pointed at Wolfram with a sense of determination. It was important that he know.

Weakly, the captive opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him. Chadwick looked away, unable to meet those angry and hurt green eyes. Wolfram von Bielefeld would never trust him again. That was for certain.

"Fine. Then, I'll tell him if you won't," Yuuri said. He was tempted to add "you coward" to that but decided against it. He wasn't so perfect himself. "It's because…he loves you. And people can do destructive things in the name of love," Yuuri stated flatly, tightening his fingers into the material of Chadwick's blue uniform. And this day would be the last he would ever wear it.

Of that, Yuuri was sure. He'd make it happen.

"If you were in a bit of danger that he could rescue you from, Wolf, then you might…love him back a little…because you're lonely."

Wolfram could feel the eyes of his men on him. Yuuri's blunt way of describing things wounded his ego and hurt his pride as a commanding officer. He was about to counter the "lonely" part with very loud and sharp words when Yuuri added, "I don't think you've ever been truly lonely, Wolf. But, if you have been, it's been my fault." He bowed to Wolfram with the most humble of apologies. "I'm truly sorry and I hope, at some point in the future, you can forgive me."

A king bowing low to his fiancé with such sincere words. Such a thing had never been done in Shin Makoku. An uncomfortable silence filled the air. The men looked on as Wolfram simply stood there, trying to take it all in.

Yuuri straightened and gave the blond a lingering look. Then, the double black shoved Chadwick in Lieutenant Luca's direction. "Anyway…both Chadwick and Barth need to go to military trial."

_And they should both be glad that in this reality they're not dead._

"As you wish, sire." And a deep bow from the soldier.

The little group began to break up as the second prisoner was ushered away and Lieutenant Luca began issuing orders to the men around him. Wolfram remained as he was, watching Yuuri and trying to decide what to do with him next. Confusing, that's what Yuuri was.

The young king unbuttoned the top three buttons of his black school jacket and opened the material wide. Even with the clouds overhead—which were quickly breaking up—he was beginning to overheat.

Black eyes turned to emerald ones. "And, to be honest, I'd really like to go back to the castle…if you don't mind."

Wolfram easily agreed to that request. They couldn't run their practice drills now. So, there was really no point in staying here any longer. He was about to issue another order to Lieutenant Luca when Yuuri turned to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, Wolf. Maybe, I should have told you all of this in private. But I thought you deserved the truth right away."

He slipped his arm around the blond's shoulders and reeled him in. Now, they looked more like conspirators and that thought amused Yuuri. He whispered in his ear. "And thanks for not setting me on fire for saying all of that."

Wolfram tilted his head to the side to look back. "You're welcome. But do it again and I'll roast your manhood."

* * *

The little ball of feathers squirmed briefly between his palms before taking to the skies. Wolfram released the pigeon with a note attached explaining the series of events to Gwendal. It would be necessary for his older brother to be informed ahead of time. For, unfortunately, there would now be even more paperwork at the castle to deal with: military reports, signed confessions (Yes, the drunk guards confessed that Chadwick had inexplicably offered them "fancy" liquor while on duty in exchange for forgiving petty gambling debts.), eyewitness reports, tribunal paperwork, and the like. Then, the families of the prisoners would have to be notified and an impartial judge would have to be located from within Shin Makoku's boarders. Though, Wolfram suspected that his uncle, Waltorana, would scream the loudest to have the judge of his choice appointed because the potential victim was his own dear nephew.

Wolfram didn't wait for his men to break camp and return to the castle en masse. In keeping with Yuuri's wishes, he sent six soldiers ahead with their bound and gagged prisoners in the back of a rickety hay wagon. And, once he'd seen for himself that at least half of the training supplies and the rations were loaded up, Wolfram suggested that the two of them go on ahead.

Some of the soldiers were still milling around when Wolfram stomped forward, totally frustrated. "Yuuri? Yuuri?"

The double black was sitting on an old tree stump, drinking water from Wolfram's canteen. He turned his head in the fire wielder's direction, hearing his name bellowed. "Yes, Wolf?"

He marched forward, a hand on his hip. "Where's your horse?"

"M-My…horse?" He smiled nervously, knowing Shinou's archway had simply left him where he needed to be. He'd never thought this far—explaining how he got here. Yuuri put a hand on the back of his head and laughed with a sweatdrop.

"Oh, don't tell me you let Ao wander off in all the excitement." The blond stomped his foot in frustration. It would take them all day to track down the animal. How irresponsible!

Yuuri placed his palms forward to pacify. "No, I came on my own…I just had to."

Wolfram felt himself wanting to growl. "Are you telling me that you _walked_ all the way here? Do you know how far that is? Not to mention, Conrad wasn't even with you! Anyone along the road could have…"

He shrugged a little. "Yeah, well… I just had to be here, ya know?" He tucked the ancient sword into his belt. "Oh, and Shinou loaned me this, by the way. Gotta give it back soon."

"Shinou?" The blond waved a dismissive hand in the air. Sometimes, getting Yuuri to make sense was a total waste of time. And this was one of those times. "Never mind," he grumped, bringing his white steed over. He made a gesture towards the horse. "Let's return to the castle and make a full report to Gwendal. By the time we get there, not only will he want a report, he'll have a throbbing headache just adding to his _good mood_."

Yuuri wedged his foot into the stirrup, pulled himself up, and got a leg over the side of the animal. Then, much to everyone's surprise, he reached a hand down.

Wolfram did a double-take at the offering.

"Come on, Wolf," he said with a smile in his voice. "You were the one who agreed that we needed to go home…together. Take my hand."

Wolfram blinked absently at the hand again before taking it, allowing Yuuri's touch and doing his best not to feel flushed by the contact. And, then, much to his surprise, Yuuri made it so that a certain blond soldier had to ride in front of him. A confused Wolfram glanced uncertainly over his shoulder at the double black.

The others were busy but three of Wolfram's remaining men, now lingering much longer than was absolutely necessary, saw the royal couple and gave each other meaningful grins.

One soldier "dropped" his hemp rope and had to work it in his hands again. Another took forever to hitch the mule to the honey wagon. And yet another soldier, dealing with the unneeded watermelons, was whistling a happy tune. They would definitely have a lot to say back at the barracks this evening over drinks, dice, and cards.

With a sense of relief, Yuuri wrapped an arm around the blond's waist, their bodies close together, as he took the reins and directed the horse toward the uneven dirt road leading to the castle. Wolfram swallowed thickly but allowed it and wondered, briefly, if Yuuri was even aware that his chest was pressed very close against his back. He could feel the rising and falling of each breath.

"So, how did you know about all of this?" Wolfram asked, trying to keep his mind off of the fact that his own men's eyes were watching them leave as well as the sensation of having Yuuri resting his sharp chin on his shoulder. Glossy, raven hair tickled his cheek playfully and Wolfram turned his face away, briefly rubbing the itchy spot. "Did Yozak tell you or something?" Green eyes glanced to the left and right sides of the narrow road. "But, if he did, he'd certainly tell Conrad and the two would be with you right now. And they would, most certainly, have joined in the sword fight."

"No, that's not it," Yuuri said, closing his eyes briefly to enjoy the sensation of holding Wolfram and knowing, in his heart, the blond was safe in his arms.

Yuuri and The Maou: They had gone back and changed time. They had changed everything. He got what he wanted—"the impossible." "It's a 'maou' thing. I just sorta knew."

"A…prophecy or a dream-vision?" Wolfram breathed, deeply impressed. His mind flicked back to a time when Yuuri was hugging him and asking whether or not he was a "dream or a dream-vision." The blond scratched his chin in thought. Had Yuuri grown stronger? It seemed so.

The double black knew that this was the moment. He had Wolfram's full attention and he had to be totally honest. "Well," he began slowly, "it's something like that…about someone I care about." Yes, that was the Japanese way of phrasing it—understatement as emphasis. But would Wolfram catch on?

"Wha-?" The blond turned in the saddle and met eyes with him. "You mean…?" No, it couldn't be. He was getting his hopes up all over again. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._ He wanted to pound a fist into his own head for being so thick. When would he learn to let go and move on? Yuuri probably needed that as much as he did.

Still, Wolfram found the nerve to point a finger at himself when Yuuri's face became sincere. His grip around Wolfram's waist became an embrace. "Yes, it's you…"

But this couldn't be. "Caring is one thing, Yuuri, but…"

He said softly in the blond's ear, "It's more than just 'like.' You know what I mean?"

"Yuuri…" Wolfram seemed somewhat torn by the confession and it was understandable considering what they'd been through all of these years.

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting all this time, Wolf," he said, speaking from the heart. "The problem was never you… It was me. Always me… And I've made so many mistakes. I'm not really sure if I can atone." Yuuri's mind flashed to Wolfram's letters—all saying "goodbye," moments with Amanda, Wolfram's body falling from the balcony, and the feeling of helplessness as Shinou lifted a broken Wolfram into his arms. The frigid look that the Original King gave him—accusations without words.

Yuuri glanced at the setting sun.

"No," Wolfram countered. "You're a good king…a fine king. And you have been one from the start."

"To you, I haven't." The double black hung his head a little. "Not from the way I treated you."

The bishonen's lips became a thin line. "Doesn't matter."

"That's where you're wrong," Yuuri said tenderly. "It does matter…has always mattered." How could he have treated Wolfram that way in the past? Even if the love had been one-sided back then, was that any way to treat someone who loved you? Who was devoted to you?

"You don't need to beat yourself up over it." There was something unwavering and strong-willed about the way the blond was riding his horse now and the animal could sense it—giving prideful, almost prancing steps. "I can handle anything."

And as the road curved, the familiar shape of Blood Pledge Castle slowly emerged far in the distance. There was someone there at the castle he needed to see. Someone before Gwendal. And that had to be done before the archway reappeared at sunset.

With his arms securely wrapped around the blond, he whispered, "Please, Wolf… Have patience… Have faith…that's what you've taught me." They had relied on each other since the beginning, hadn't they? And, no matter how many arguments or how far apart they traveled, they always ended up together—somehow.

But, it would be more than words. In truth, they would both need faith as the castle grew larger in the distance—a great deal of it, in fact, because nothing, at that point, was certain.

And Yuuri knew it.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

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Hearing Yuuri's words, a part of Wolfram's prideful nature snapped back. _Be serious… _"Have faith? I taught you that?" Wolfram returned cynically but did not resist the gentle warmth of Yuuri's embrace, the arm wrapped around him and the wide palm spread across his chest. Yuuri had the sexy scent of earth, musk, and sweat from his swordfight. And that fresh from the fight scent made Wolfram's heart beat harder. It was so hard not to simply drink in the almost primal cravings which came to him. He'd dreamed about something like this for far too long to have the strength to battle against it.

_Even so…_ Wolfram was Wolfram and he'd speak his mind.

"I don't think you understand the situation…even if you did risk your life and reputation to save me back there."

The double black slackened the reins and the white steed knew, instinctively, to slow down.

"…That you were about to give up on me…or that you'd done it already?" Yuuri said, rubbing his raven locks against Wolfram's affectionately. "I knew…or had known... yeah…" The time jump had made things a little confusing in his mind. But, he could see that Wolfram had been unhappy in both time frames. Truth be told, anyone with eyes could see. But Yuuri understood that his sin went much deeper than that. No matter how many innocent smiles he gave and how "genki" he behaved, he still had a callus disregard for Wolfram's feelings even though, in his heart, he knew that he could never part with him.

Low, green hills and a small apple orchard passed with the measured clomping of the horse's hooves on the road. Blood Pledge Castle drew nearer.

"I also know that this…right now…seems too much too fast for you," the double black added, keeping tight the embrace which held them together. Yuuri wanted to remember the feel. For, at any moment, the blond might order him to stop—to let go—and he didn't want that but would respect it.

Wolfram glanced over his shoulder and gave a reluctant, "Yes…"

The dirt road made a sudden, winding curve and they were met with a change of scenery. For Wolfram, it was all too familiar. He'd been on this road often since childhood—mostly riding in one of the fine carriages his mother owned—and took the virgin landscape for granted. Yuuri, on the other hand, still loved to look out—to see the defining point where the land touched the sky—something he could not do at home in Japan.

They passed workers in the field. The dozen or so men and women stopped their work to cheer for their king and the ex-prince. Yuuri transferred the reins to his opposite hand in order to wave back politely, but never did he let go of Wolfram. He still had his riding mate in the crook of his arm.

The blond glanced awkwardly at that and, then, at the field hands. On the best of days, Yuuri ignored him when other people were around. The worst? He would be shoved aside so that people wouldn't get the wrong impression about them. But, not this time around—strange, though it was. "Yuuri, people are watching," he gritted. The double black simply smiled and continued to wave to the group, drawing even more attention. And Günter's "royal waving lessons," much to Wolfram's chagrin, had served him remarkably well. He was coming across as much more "kingly" and much more confident than he usually did. But, didn't Yuuri prefer things as they were? As they had always been? Low key and modest?

Wolfram, with a sour expression now, wriggled a little in the saddle to attract Yuuri's attention. Maybe, he just didn't catch his meaning a minute ago. "Oi, you're holding me right in front of them," the blond whispered with his head turned away.

The double black leaned forward, giving a cheery expression for Wolfram, too.

Proud.

Yes, he was.

Wolfram, his Wolfram, was not fading away. He was alive. He was safe. No suffering, no injuries…no need of a walking stick or Shinou's healing magic. Brave, definitely. And he was striking—far prettier than any girl.

Within him, The Maou could read his thoughts and gave a glow of agreement. At the same time, the elemental spirit seemed to be relieved and proud of the work they had accomplished. For once, Yuuri had earned The Maou's respect and the double black could almost feel a pat on the back. Now and in the future, Yuuri hoped to keep working together. They had to—for the sake of the country and for Wolfram.

More cheers and claps came from the field. The field hands, stopping briefly and leaving their baskets unattended, came a few steps forward and greeted them as modest but true subjects—bowing low with their straw hats removed.

After all, it wasn't every day they saw royalty on an impressive, white steed.

"Well, I guess, we're quite a sight. Too bad they can't take a picture of us together," he whispered boyishly, cupping a hand to Wolfram's ear. "I think we look great together on your horse."

A gasp.

Green eyes widened in dismay and he whipped his head in Yuuri's direction. "Stop being crude!" Wolfram hissed back darkly, his prim and proper "self" coming out. His posture was straight as a rod now, arms crossed against his chest. "I don't know where you learned that… _look great together on your horse_…comment but, that just sounds revolting and scandalous coming out of your mouth!" He narrowed his eyes at the road in front of them but kept hissing to Yuuri, "And if it turns out to be one of _my men_ who taught you that crude, dead common expression…their punishment will be…!"

"Eh? Crude?" Oh, now he got it. Too late, though. "No, no!" Yuuri pleaded… "It was totally innocent… I meant all that literally!"

From Yuuri's viewpoint, it seemed as though the blond's brain had suddenly short-circuited. Wolfram lost all composure, buckled over, and leaned forward on the white steed to steady himself—much to the confusion of the workers as the two of them clomped on by. The blond turned beet red and coughed out the word "literally" before getting hold of himself.

"I really meant it," Yuuri half chuckled.

"So did I!"

Wolfram whipped back around.

Yuuri blinked at him and tilted his head to the side. All he could see was the back of Wolfram's head now—and, looking down, a brief glimpse of sexy flesh on his neck and ears that still held a very nice, rosy color.

"Wolfram?"

"Hm?" He was doing his best to control his breathing and to come back to some sense of "normal" because Yuuri sure as hell hadn't. Not since that incident back at the lake, anyway.

"Can I ask you something, Wolf?"

"Yes," Wolfram said, working to keep his voice even. He straightened up, lifted his chin, and tucked a windblown piece of hair behind his left ear.

"You love me, don't you?" Yuuri said bluntly, very much against his Japanese nature. But, it was the kind of thing he had to say right now.

The blond took a sharp intake of breath. Yuuri could feel it from being so close to him on the horse. But he wasn't surprised. Wolfram was probably getting the wrong impression right about now. Considering their history together, it would be a natural assumption. For, it was habit for them to misunderstand each other. In this case, he was probably feeling like he was being backed into a corner. And, maybe, he was. But they had to start somewhere.

"I think we care about each other, Wolf, but when it comes to affection…" He dared to peek at Wolfram from the side, hoping his expression would be something he could handle seeing. For, Yuuri had no way of knowing what expression Wolfram was wearing at the moment or how to react to it exactly. "I mean, now that I look back on everything…I know now… We would never push each other…never force it… In all the years we've been together, we never did."

The blond could feel his eyes misting up. He tightened his fist at his side.

"Why are you bringing this up now?" Wolfram asked roughly, battling with his own emotions. There was something cold and afraid within his heart, not that he would ever admit it out loud. Was Yuuri changing his mind already? Was all of this touching and concern just another type of confusing Earth custom he didn't know about? Or, was this some kind of strange aftermath from experiencing extreme fear from the sword fight. Wolfram had heard of many stories from the battlefield.

Green eyes turned back to the road.

_Yes, it could be that._

"If we started out slowly… If we began again, as friends, and worked our way into something more…?" Yuuri suggested. Then, he sighed at that notion. Wolfram's feelings had grown and had gone far beyond that point long, long ago. What if he wasn't willing to begin again? What if he wasn't willing to wait for him to catch up?

The blush.

He'd seen that. It had been there.

No, they both had problems with expressing affection. Maybe, it was because they were "just kids" from the double black's way of seeing things.

The blond, riding in front of him, was at a loss for words for once in his life and still riding stiff—much stiffer than usual. So, what Yuuri was saying was affecting him.

It wasn't a "no," was it?

Definitely not a "no."

Then, he would press on.

"I think, Wolf, that affection…the real thing…comes from a bond of 'trust.' And I want to find that, to build that…"

"With me?" Wolfram asked disbelieving. Then, he lowered his head, eyes now cast in shadow. "But…of course, you would," he returned in a hollow voice, "I'm your…fiancé." And, then, he chuckled softly at the bitter words in his mouth. He'd said his famous line, hadn't he? Wasn't that what Yuuri was looking for? Would that make him feel better? "And, after all…this is my place in this world."

For now, it was.

"Wolf," he sighed, carding his fingers through blond hair tenderly. The gentle scent of sunflowers came to him.

Something he loved.

Something he missed.

He pressed his cheek against the blond's.

Yuuri held Wolfram the rest of the ride back to the castle. If nothing else, he wanted to provide that comfort. And Wolfram, after a time, relaxed into Yuuri's arms—the blond's heart and mind at war with each other.

But that was reasonable.

There was so much that Wolfram wanted to say. And there was so much that couldn't be said. But that was how they always were together.

_This is so unfair, Yuuri._

* * *

When the white steed slowed to a stop before the stable doors, Yuuri got off first, looked up with warmth in his eyes, and offered Wolfram his hand again. The blond took it but, with expert skill, swung his leg over and easily dropped to the double black's side—showing off his finesse. "A kind gesture, to be sure, but I can get off of a horse," the blond said simply, now trying to see exactly what Yuuri was doing. Apparently, this little bit of horsemanship wasn't enough to keep Yuuri's attention for very long.

"Yuuri?"

No answer.

"Oh, now what?" the ex-prince asked somewhat irritably, crossing his arms against his chest. Yuuri had become so unpredictable today that Wolfram almost wished for the "old Yuuri" back.

Almost.

"I…uh…" the double black began distractedly while standing on his toes, lifting his chin, and scanning his surroundings in the hopes he could avoid just about everyone he knew.

"My king?" A frizzy-haired stable boy seemingly popped up out of nowhere—making Yuuri visibly jump. Heart beating hard now, he'd wished that he'd bothered to look directly inside the open stable, especially since both massive doors were left wide to let the breeze in.

_What an idiot I was_, he thought, patting his thumping chest hard but still looking around with worry.

"Hm?" A high pitched voice came. It was the stable boy again. Wolfram stood next to him, arms folded.

Reluctantly, Yuuri turned his eyes in their direction. And, then, once he noticed that both the child and Wolfram were staring at him, he felt more than just a little embarrassed—_and ridiculous_. He tried to hide it all behind a laugh and by handing over the horse to the confused little boy who was, by now, picking his nose with his little finger.

And, then, Yuuri heard voices fading in.

"Glad to see you… We might have a new duty for you to perform. Gwendal is concerned again about Wolfram and Yuuri getting along. That's why I think it is a good thing that my brother is at the lake."

"No, you don't understand! I'm here to tell you that there's been an incident at the lake!"

A beat.

"What?" His voice hit a stressed pitch. "Is it Wolfram? Is he okay?"

"Lord von Voltaire wants to see us both in his office. We have to go now!"

_Yozak and Conrad!_ Raven eyes reflected panic. He grabbed Wolfram by the hand and dragged him around back of the stables. He listened hard for the heavy thudding of footfalls growing nearer and he held his breath until they faded away. With his free hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow—a sense of relief coming to him.

"Yuuri," Wolfram said in his usual 'no nonsense' tone, "what is going on?" A squeeze. The blond bishonen looked down at his hand. Yuuri was clasping onto it for dear life. This had to be some kind of shock. Or else, why hide from Conrad, his favorite person, and Yozak—a favorite playmate (especially when they could get Greta involved in a game or something)? Yes, shock. There was no other plausible explanation. Yuuri needed him now. The wimp couldn't even see how bad off he really was. And if this got worse…? "Yuuri," Wolfram tried again in a much kinder tone this time, "I think you're going through some kind of…emotional…_problem_ stemming from today." He squeezed the hand back.

That did it. It distracted Yuuri from looking around the corner of the stables and back to him. "…Emotional…problem?" He wore a confused expression now.

"Yes," Wolfram went on, feeling uncomfortable with the next thing he felt obliged to suggest. "We need to have Gissela look at you. The truth is…I'm worried that…"

Yuuri placed his hands on both of Wolfram's shoulders and smiled warmly—the kind of smile that would always draw Wolfram in. "Once again, Wolf, I have no idea what you're talking about. But…No worries," he promised. "If I do things just right…everything will be good for us."

"Good?" Wolfram seemed both concerned and frustrated. Anyone would be—especially since the ex-prince had been left clueless in this situation. Yuuri felt sorry for him, but it couldn't be helped right now.

"Wolf, just…just go along with this for a few more minutes." The double black racked his brains to think of a way—a Shin Makoku way—to get Wolfram to comply without fuss. The last thing that they needed was to be discovered. But how? And, then, he knew. He just suddenly knew. He took Wolfram's right hand in his, brought the knuckles up to his lips and gently kissed. Yuuri had seen nobles do such things before—as a part of ceremonies and solemn vows. Wolfram's face warmed at the gentle touch of lips and the meaning behind it. And, from holding the slightly shaking hand, it was clear that the blond wasn't expecting that.

"Humor me," Yuuri asked, dark eyes pleading. "Please, just for now."

Wolfram shook his head in defeat. "I could never tell you 'no', could I?"

"Okay," Yuuri breathed once a silly gaggle of maids with overflowing laundry baskets wandered past giggling about something "dark and sexy" Lord von Voltaire had said—which made Wolfram's stomach churn. He could never see his brother that way. And he didn't want them to, either. The blond shot them an angry look.

The double black snatched Wolfram's hand again and tugged him along. Side by side now. "Casual…casual… Walk casual and keep going," he instructed in low tones, using Wolfram to shield him from any passersby. It was at this point that Yuuri suddenly realized that Wolfram was making an excellent shield—being at least three centimeters taller than he was.

_When did that happen?_

His heart sank a little but he had to shake the feeling off. _Gotta keep moving…keep on. _He made a fist, determined._ Do my best…_

"I can't walk more casual than this," the blond muttered under his breath but glanced at their clasped hands again. With them like this, they'd surely attract attention—and more gossip—in a heartbeat. But, before he could say anything, Wolfram was unceremoniously yanked into the shadow of the castle and he found himself pressed hard against the rough stone wall. "Yuuri!" he practically yelled, "Of all the…!"

A hand clamped firmly over his mouth.

Green eyes bulged with indignation in Yuuri's direction. The double black had pushed himself against the ex-prince so closely that the blond considered it immodest and practically indecent in public. Then, other thoughts came to him: What, the hell, were they doing? What king sneaks into his own castle anyway?

_This is so stupid!_

And he tried to say so.

"Shhh!" Yuuri urged, leaning around the curve only to see what he didn't want most—two curious castle guards heading in their direction, eyes shifting left and right as they went along. The young king gritted his teeth. "Oh, no. They're coming."

The hand fell away.

"Who?" Wolfram tried to peek, too.

"Guards!" He rushed the word, panicked.

The thudding sounds of feet became unmistakable and Wolfram could see Yuuri's distress. It wasn't a game he'd invented. It was real—somehow, in some way. Whatever the reason for doing this—for being on this bizarre, little adventure—he would help him sneak back into his own home.

As preposterous as it sounded…

"Yuuri?" He took hold of the double black's arm to get his attention. "Do you want my help getting back into the castle?"

"Can you?" There it was. That hopeful smile that melted Wolfram every single time he saw it. The blond nodded and cursed himself at the same time. No good ever came from that smile—not for him, at least. For others, yes. For the country, yes. But Wolfram knew his heart always suffered for it. Then again, maybe, that was what fate had decided.

The rough with the smooth; the bitter with the sweet.

It was his own fault, now that he thought about it. Fondness always held pain anyway. He knew that lesson all too well.

"I know of a way," the blond explained, "an old trick from my courting days."

"Which would be?" Yuuri asked worriedly now that the soldiers were only steps away.

Wolfram leaned down, tapped on the window behind Yuuri, and the seamstress inside pulled back the curtains with a start. Her violet eyes lit up, recognizing them, and she opened the window wide without hesitation.

"Down the rabbit hole," Wolfram hissed in an undertone, not giving any other explanation.

"Right!" the lady said, stepping aside and allowing Wolfram to practically bowl Yuuri into the room. In a flash, she closed the window, locked it, and closed the pleated curtain with a swish.

"Ow!" Yuuri complained. This was more than he'd bargained for.

And much too fast.

* * *

Wolfram took two steps to the side of the window and unbuttoned his navy trousers with a deep sigh. Back in his courting days, he'd always been the "rabbit." Now, he wasn't and this next part was something that he was not looking forward to particularly.

Trousers loose now, he made sure they were good, low, and baggy when…

"Lord von Bielefeld!" the first guard said in surprise, rounding the corner and catching the blond with his pants down—literally. The second guard could do nothing more than simply smile tolerantly at the scene.

"Taking a piss," Wolfram said in an even voice, adjusting his manhood a little through the thong. "Why burst my bladder in going to the privy?" He raised a blond eyebrow. "Anyone got a problem with that?"

"Sir…no problem, sir!" the first guard replied, feeling flustered. He tried his best not to look down at him but temptation struck.

It always did.

"Well then," Wolfram replied in his brattiest tone while hitching his pants up and buckling, "be on your way." Then, he put a hand on his hip, turned, and faced them. "Or, shall I tell my brother, Lord von Voltaire, that the two of you have been…eyeing me."

With swift salutes, the two guards marched on—not daring to look back. And it didn't take them very long to find something else to investigate, namely the pretty maids hanging out laundry to dry.

With a frown, Wolfram turned on his heel and made his way for the castle entrance. "Okay, Yuuri. I'll trust you this time. But you really owe me one. Those guys saw my thong."

* * *

The young woman laughed at the double black as he slowly picked himself up from the floor—rubbing his backside with an adorably childish scowl on his face.

Yuuri glanced around. Yes, now that he was actually paying attention, he appeared to be in a workroom of some sorts. There were needles, thread, two bolts of fabric (both in "Lady Cheri red"), baskets overflowing with silk ribbons, work tables with sketches on them, and three large full length mirrors. The air had a strange musty smell about it. But it was more than that; it was as though time simply stopped by being there.

"I had no idea that His Majesty and his fiancé played that courting game…or that it was even in fashion anymore," she laughed softly behind her hand.

The double black dusted himself off. "Courting game?"

"Of course," she said with a wink, then going to the door and opening it a crack. She peeked out to see if anyone would notice a very young king exiting her workroom. Usually, it was Lady Cheri and her current male admirer who would drop by to see how the progress was going. This, however, was a little bit out of the ordinary—which meant "fun." "I mean… You didn't want to get caught, did you? And it's considered best for the one of higher rank to 'go through the rabbit hole' so that both do not get caught and scolded by the families." She tossed her red hair to the side as she craned her neck. It was a wasted effort, though. The heavily curled strands easily fell back.

The seamstress turned to Yuuri with a smile. "But, usually, the rabbit trick is done very late at night." Now, her tone took on a sexy note to it. "…And the families are ignorant of the fact that they are together."

The only thing Yuuri could think of saying was "oh," now getting her meaning. And for Wolfram to know this trick from his "courting days," he must have done it with someone—or many someones. The double black never really focused on Wolfram having past lovers or playing "love games" with any of them. For a brief moment, he felt inadequate and his heart hurt. It was silly, he knew.

"But that can't be said for the two of you, Yuuri Heika. You and Sir von Bielefeld…You're incredibly lucky." She grinned at him and opened the door for Yuuri to escape. "And I'm a little bit jealous."

Yuuri met her eyes for a second. Wasn't that what he just felt—thinking of Wolfram's past? Jealousy? But, instead, he said, "Lucky, huh?"

Yes, Wolfram loved him. Of that, he was certain. Now was not the time to taint that bond with jealousy from his end of things. He'd seen the destructive force that could come from strong emotions.

The double black walked through the door and could hear whispered behind him, "Good luck."

He stopped and asked, "Ummm… What day is it?"

A slightly confused frown but she answered, "Thursday."

"Thanks," and a wave, getting his bearings as he walked away. Now, Yuuri knew for certain his final step. Luckily, the library was in this wing of the castle. He could make it there unnoticed in if he tried.

"This way," he muttered to himself, ducking into an empty hallway. "And up to the next floor."

* * *

Without a single knock, Yuuri opened the library door wide—too wide, in fact—accidentally banging it into the plastered interior wall. It cracked a little bit from the impact and, with an uncomfortable smile, he pretended that it hadn't. It was just flaking with old age. Yeah, that was it.

A book slammed shut.

An annoyed voice: "Oi! Wolf, is that you?"

Yuuri grinned. Quickly stepping inside and closing the door behind him, he rounded a tall bookcase crammed with musty old books and came face to face with the person he needed most—himself. And the "him" perched behind the ornately carved, antique desk gave a totally astonished look—jaw dropped, breath taken away.

But there was no time for that, for questions.

A glance at the open window.

The sun was setting.


	21. Chapter 21

Final Chapter

.

.

"You're right," Yuuri agreed with his eyes suddenly drawn to the open window again, "There's no mistake. I _am you_." Quickly, he approached the desk, snatched up the quill from the inkpot, and lifted a leaf of paper from the stack.

The "Yuuri" behind the desk blinked incredibly at it all. He leaned away as a hand—a twin of his own right hand—rushed to clear a spot on the messy desk in order to write.

"Sorry, but there's no time for questions, debates, or arguments. I have just enough time to write down everything that happened at the lake for you."

The quill began frantic scratching against paper.

"The lake?" he parroted innocently but got no response. "What are you talking about?"

A soft shimmering sound filled the room and Yuuri turned slightly, still crouched over the desk. He bit his lip when he realized that the archway was already starting to materialize behind him. Sunset was approaching much sooner than he'd expected. The cheery glow out the window had been misleading.

"L-Look!" His other self said, pointing a finger at the structure's black outline. It was amazing—like a 3-D video game coming to life.

"Yes, I know. I'm running out of time," Yuuri grumbled, going back to his task and hoping that his Japanese handwriting would be good enough to read. It would take far too much effort to write all of this in Mazoku. And, worse yet, anyone could read it if he did. On the other hand, if this Japanese note were found lying around, only Murata and, possibly, Conrad could make out the words. Though, exactly how much kanji Conrad knew was anyone's guess.

"I'm the 'you' from the future…as ridiculous as it may sound," Yuuri went on as he numbered the page down the left side and began filling in the events. "And very soon, you'll be told to go to Gwendal's office. They'll want to know how you saved Wolfram's life at the lake. If you can't memorize this fast enough, just hand this list over."

"Wait! Wolf? Saved his life?" the young double black choked out, standing from his chair—his face very concerned.

He got a firm nod and then Yuuri returned to scribbling furiously on the page. "Still, it would be best to read this over. You need to, at least, appear to be clear on the facts. You know as well as I do how thorough Gwendal can be when he's grilling you."

He dipped back into the inkpot, almost toppled it over, and then dripped blotches of ink onto books and the wood on the desk. But, no matter. This had to be finished and quickly. The double black could feel the tension growing in his body with each passing second. "Done! Here!"

The younger Yuuri took the note that was shoved into his hands, not worrying about the wet ink on his fingers. "But he is okay…? Wolfram, I mean?"

The shimmering sound grew louder and Yuuri could feel something cold running through him. The image of the archway was filling in and growing in dimension. It wouldn't be long now and he had so little time left.

"Before I go…before you start thinking that this is all just some sort of preposterous dream and that you can go back to the way things are…the way things feel comfortable…when you 'wake up'…" The double black put a hand to his own chest, wrapped his fingers around the button closest to his heart and ripped it—pulling the button away. "Open your hand," he ordered and it was done. Yuuri dropped the button into his palm. "This is all very real, I promise."

The "Yuuri" behind the desk plopped down into his seat, staring into his hand. The button was identical to his own. The engraved "S.Y." in the Mazoku alphabet stood out clearly.

Desperately, the double black placed his palms on the desk and leaned forward. "But, it is more than this," he said and the "him" behind the desk met eyes.

"More?"

Yuuri cringed for a second, trying to drive away the annoying, shimmering sound.

"You have no idea what I've been through to get to this point…what Wolfram has been through."

"Wolf? I don't get it."

He shook his head. "Oh, yes you do. You know exactly what I mean. And it is time you faced it…that _we faced_ it…" He gave a sincere look at himself, his mirror self. Maybe, someone had tried to tell him this long ago and he'd simply ignored it or had run away. Now, there was no denying it. "Our feelings for Wolfram…that's what I mean."

Black eyes widened. His jaw dropped a little and the nervousness was clearly spreading across his face. "Ah…no… You see…" He put his hand behind his head and laughed a little sheepishly.

But the blush was a dead giveaway.

Yuuri rolled his eyes. "That trick won't work with me. Why? Because I'm you." He gestured to himself. "I know what you're doing." His face grew determined and he leaned forward a little more on the desk, frustrated with the idiot in the chair sitting before him. How many times had Wolfram gone through this? Trying to make him see reason? Years, was it? But the blond's approach never worked. So…

The truth. The unvarnished.

He would say the words.

"I know! I know! You feel cornered by Wolfram's feelings for you…and the fact that everyone goes along with it, thinking it's so cute. You think you're too young to get married. You think that you'll be missing out if you live your life without a single kiss from a girl or a real date with one…or a marriage to one. I know! I get it! I do." He shook his head. "But, deep down, the truth is that you love Wolfram…always have. You need him. As illogical as it is…especially when he's throwing a tantrum." Black eyes softened and he hated himself as he spoke the words, "And the more you try to deny it, the more you push him away…you…_we_…end up hurting him…in so many ways…not just emotional."

The Yuuri behind the desk looked down at the numbered list with a bit of confusion. "Hurt him? I thought you just said that you'd…_that I'd_…just 'saved' Wolfram. He's okay now, right?"

The archway shimmered again, now waiting for Yuuri to pass through it. Either he would walk through it now with dignity or Shin Makoku—and all who dwelled within—would parish, screaming as one in an inferno of boiling, black magic and then be crushed to a singularity. Such was the nature of a paradox created by Shinou's magic.

With regret, Yuuri found himself stepping toward the archway. He'd wanted to say so much more and to have more time to convince himself of doing the right thing. But it wasn't possible. He'd failed again and he hated himself for that. The double black made a fist, nails biting into his palm. "Damn."

Yuuri turned back one final time—really looking at himself this time. The young, Japanese double black could only sit there—blinking stupidly at him with a note half crunched in one hand and a button clutched in the other.

Did he even deserve the chance to be happy with Wolfram? Someone as plain and as ordinary…as _cowardly_ as he was? Did he…really? Then, an image of Wolfram came to him—Wolfram fussing at him while fixing his collar, fingers lingering against his skin a little longer than necessary and, then, for some reason which always escaped him, the fire dying in those green eyes as he said, "Let's go."

Yes, he decided. Yes, he did. Flaws and all. He deserved Wolfram even if he'd use the only excuse which popped into his head—he'd be selfish this time. Selfish for Wolfram's wants and needs. And those, by extension, would eventually become his own wants and needs. Yes, he'd be a bit selfish. "Please," Yuuri urged upon the point of begging, "please give me the future that I want…a future with Wolfram. Only you can do that. Only you can keep him."

And, with that, he stepped through. From somewhere, the sound of a single drop of water splashing into a pool echoed. But when the young double black looked around to see where the sound was coming from, the archway had faded away into nothingness.

Yuuri looked down into his hands—the scribbled note and the button. "I…"

"What, the hell, happened to the wall?" came a voice and Yuuri instantly perked up behind the desk. "There's bits of plaster all over the carpet."

A few more steps coming his way.

"Yuuri? Are you in here?"

_Wolfram!_

"Yuuri? Yuuri?"

"Umm… Over here, Wolf!" the double black called, sounding relieved. It would be good to see him with his own eyes after all of the confusing things that had just happened.

A quick glance at the note. _Oh, no…gotta hide this stuff… _More footsteps his way and Yuuri suddenly stood and crammed the note into his pocket. The button quickly followed.

"Oh, there you are," Wolfram said with a glance around him. Green eyes grew suspicious. "Is it just you…or…?"

Yuuri put a hand behind his head and smiled broadly. "Well, why wouldn't it be me?"

"Well…" A confused shrug. "To tell the truth… I could hear your voice from the hallway but I couldn't make out the words. It seemed like you were almost…_talking_ to yourself there for a moment." He pulled a blond strand of hair behind his left ear. "Anyway, I've come here to tell you that Gwendal wants to see both of us in his office as soon as possible." Green eyes grew suspicious again when he saw the reaction on Yuuri's face—as though in total disbelief.

"Problem with that?"

The double black shook his head "no." But his face was still paled.

The blond put a hand on his hip and a bratty tone crept in. "After what happened today, Yuuri, you can't expect my brother to not take an interest in the attempt on my life or the way you gallantly stepped in and saved me, can you?"

He watched his face closely to see the reaction. There was an almost disbelieving stare coming from Yuuri. No mistake about it, the "Wimp" was back—not the gentle, considerate, loving man who was with him on the horse earlier. The one who said that he "liked" him and wanted to be with him. Pleasant, intimate touches and reassurances along the way. Of course, Yuuri would revert back to this. Everything was calm again. The adventure finished. Ended.

Wolfram felt something break a little inside of himself. He should have known better. Should have been smarter. Why do this to himself over and over again when the outcome was never in question? But it was more than that. There was something lonely about it, too. And, maybe, the problem really wasn't Yuuri to begin with. Maybe, the blond guessed, the problem was the person he saw in the mirror each morning—the person whose face showed more and more disappointment as the years slowly passed.

Lying to yourself through dreams. _Someday, he will care for me, too._

Lying by technicality. _I'm your fiancé, Yuuri, so I…_

Enough.

"I…um…also came to tell you something else," Wolfram went on in a much quieter tone.

"Yes?" He cocked his head sideways, curious.

"Well, to begin with, my family owes you a great deal for saving my life. To have my safety and my honor defended at sword point by the maou… Well, there are few greater honors in Shin Makoku." There was a profound bow which followed.

Yuuri could only smile nervously at that, wondering exactly what had gone on.

"Thank you, Yuuri, for what you have done." Green eyes smiled sadly and Yuuri found himself feeling confused. Shouldn't Wolfram feel happy? Most people would, right?

Wolfram strolled to the window and looked out at the coming of nightfall. It was so beautiful, so peaceful. To become one with it and to flee all of his cares would be a godsend. But life was not like that. "You know, on another subject, Gwendal and I are leaving in a few days to go on a hunting trip at Voltaire Castle. We'll be gone for a fortnight." He fingered the windowsill lightly, a soft touch to and fro. "Then, from there, I'm going to meet mother at Spitzburg Castle." A chuckle to himself. He had not indulged her like that in years. "She says that she has some people there she wants me to meet and, then, there will be a trip after that." He turned back to Yuuri. "So, I guess, I'll go…"

The young king brightened. "That's really great, Wolf! I know you'll have a fun time."

His answer was a non-committal hum and a quiet stroll away from the window.

Something seemed wrong, the double black realized, and a heavy silence fell between them. He moved his hand—fingers streaking leftover splotches of ink across the desk into arcs. The wetness made him remember the archway and…

"So, uh…Wolf?" Yuuri asked, looking down at another drying ink splotch on the desk. The stains, he knew, were permanent and his own fault—his own in a way. "When are you coming back? I mean, you know, Greta's gonna ask and all." Using Greta was lame, Yuuri knew, and some part of him felt ashamed. But it was second nature now to find ways of asking painful or personal questions without getting too close to the blond who stood before him.

Wolfram smiled thinly, seeing right through him. "While I'm gone, I think you should eat some delicious food…and taste some luscious wine…" Green eyes met his with sincerity. "Meet some new faces…and dance a lot, never worrying about the time…" The blond forced himself to smile at the thought. He had to. "You're king and you should enjoy life. It's about time you did."

The double black looked away for a second. "You're…uh…not going to tell me when you're coming back, huh, Wolf?" Yuuri said but his short laugh wasn't believable for either of them. Absently, he rubbed his ink-stained fingers together. "It's…almost like you've given up," he continued.

Wolfram sighed for a second. "Just because I've given up on you…it doesn't mean that I've given up on me." He straightened his shoulders a little, head held high. "And don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I've made it this far on my own…without your care or concern. All I have to do is keep walking forward, step by step, and, when things get tiring, I'll hold onto what's important."

Yuuri said, putting a hand in his pocket, "And that's…"

"You have Conrad, Gwendal, Günter, and others in the castle who will look out for you. You don't need to worry about being on your own or feeling lonesome." He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, "And should you need me…" Then, he shook his head. Yuuri was maou. He was _The Maou_. He didn't need him now and never would. "Well, at any rate, you'll always have a sword willing to fight by your side living in Bielefeld."

Wolfram turned on his heel, making his way for the door. "So, now, we really need to go to Gwendal's office."

"Wait, Wolf."

The blond half turned.

"I…uh mean…" Yuuri stood from his chair, putting a hand in his pocket. "I'll join you in a few minutes. Tell Gwendal for me, okay?"

Wolfram shrugged resignedly and walked away. "As you wish."

The young king waited to hear the sound of the library door being closed before he pulled out the contents of his pocket. The button landed on the desk, made a spiral, and fell flat with a metallic "clink." The note crinkled as he opened it hastily and poured over the contents. "Okay, okay! What happened and what do I do about it?" he asked himself as he went through the beginning line of hastily written Japanese. He had to know and he had to know _now_.

At the bottom, there was a final plea: "You stand at a crossroads in our life. Decide well-for both of us."

Yuuri shook his head, "You're asking me to make a decision. But, still… Is what you want what I'm ready for? If ever…"

* * *

.

…FIVE YEARS LATER…

.

.

Three black haired children were playing in the royal gardens outside of Yuuri's window. The screeches and shouts of laughter were enough to wake him from a dead sleep, even knowing—in the haze of waking—that it was far too early on that summer morning to go through the shock of that. Yozak's ringing laugh could be heard, too, along with wet, smacking sounds against what seemed to be the stonework of the castle.

"So, he's instigating it," Yuuri sighed into his pillow, wanting to roll over onto his back and doze but knowing that it wasn't going to happen.

"Nah! You missed me! You missed me!"

"That's Nathan," Yuuri grunted, getting up lethargically and padding over to the closet. He needed clothes.

"Stupid head!"

"And Jonathan," Yuuri groaned, "which means that our youngest is…"

"Big, bad meanie! Boo! Boo!"

"Is somewhere around, too," Yuuri went on, continuing his thought. "I guess, all three of my kids are a royal pain this morning," he grumbled, shedding his clothes and getting dressed for the day. He knew far too well that no one, with the exception of Nanny, would willingly step in and make the children stop their game of…well, whatever it was. "Where is Nanny anyway?" he wondered out loud while going over to the bed and putting his socks on. "I hope they haven't tied her up to the apple tree again. She complained for a week after that last time because standing for so long made her gout bad."

The double black stepped into his shoes and made his way to the garden in the hopes that he could manage the chaos that was going on. But, once he got outside, he was stunned—standing rooted to the spot.

Dripping wet, Yozak emerged from his hiding place behind the tall, flowering shrub. His muddy tunic was plastered against his well-sculpted body, revealing every curve and muscle. Drops of water were clinging to his orange hair as he brushed it back with a single flip, enjoying the attention that Yuuri was giving him and enjoying, even more, the huge blush that came to the young king's face. Looking down at himself, even Yozak had to admit that his wet breeches left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Then again, with his physique, there was nothing to be ashamed about, either.

A well-built man was a well built man.

Yozak winked at him. So cheeky.

Yuuri found his way to the stone bench nearby and sat down. And then his jaw fell when...

Splat!

"Uncle Yozak! Did I do good, huh? Did I?" came the voice. Apparently, Nathan had been hiding behind the shrub with the castle spy. Yozak looked down to the middle prince and agreed, "Yes, you got your older brother good… Just, next time, don't put a rock in the center of that mud ball."

"But brothers are like that," Conrad chimed in behind the double black, startling him. How silently his godfather moved could still astound him sometimes. But, there was really no time to be appreciating such things. With his eyes, he gave Conrad the "make Yozak behave" vibe and the older man understood instantly.

"Yozak, can I speak with you for a moment?"

With a broad grin, and shaking off muddy water like a puppy, the castle spy happily jumped out of the ever expanding field of muck he'd made with the boys.

"Oh, this is not good. Definitely not good," Yuuri moaned softly to himself. "I mean, what if…?" A sound behind him caught his attention and he turned his head toward the heavy castle doors. There was Wolfram standing on the top step leading in. He was wearing faun trousers, a white shirt with long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a navy vest. The black steel hoop earring in his left ear shined softly as did his gold wedding ring, from him, and a Maou's Tear ring on the forefinger, given to him by The Maou on their wedding night three years ago.

_Oh, no!_

"Wolf!" Yuuri said, standing up abruptly. He knew how the blond felt about dirt and the boys getting dirty. But, mud!

"What…the hell…" The Royal Consort's tone rose in pitch and volume, taking in the sight of his precious children in their new clothes. Rolling around in…thoroughly caked in… Then, his burning eyes flicked to the right.

Wet.

Spy.

Using a towel to dry off…

"Yozak! You did this to them, didn't you?"

"Just a little bit of fun!" he returned but allowed Conrad to steer him in another direction entirely to escape the wrath of Wolfram—including stray fireballs which may or may not have been so "stray."

Not a good thing for the boys to see.

The children laughed anyway—mud covered hands over their faces.

Wolfram approached his three children—covered head to toe in Shin Makoku's rich, black soil. It was impossible to see their natural hair color. Only their eyes—all indigo—peeped out impishly.

This was too much.

The blond stomped over to the bench and plopped himself down. "I can't believe this, Yuuri! What a mess! And where is Nanny?" He scanned the surroundings but there was no sign of her. Her absence put a sour feeling in his stomach. They might have to send out another search party for the middle aged woman.

"Calm down," the double black returned with a slight laugh—the kind his father always gave his mother when she was upset. "It's only mud. And they are boys, after all. So, let's not make this a big deal." Then, in a lower voice, he reminded Wolfram. "Remember all they've been through…everything…before they came into our lives…"

With that, Wolfram softened. Yes, the boys had been through a lot before they'd been adopted. Wolfram remembered his hunting trip with Gwendal in the von Voltaire lands when a lightning strike set dry fields and an entire village on fire. These three little ones were the only survivors. And the youngest would always have burn scars on his back as a result. But Wolfram was there for them—every step of the way.

And always would be.

And, while they loved Yuuri, too, and admired their other father as "king," it was Wolfram who was wanted and needed most. He was the one they called out to in the night when they had nightmares and when boo-boos seemed impossible to bear alone.

A pudgy, grubby Mazoku hand reached out for Wolfram's. Taking it, he gave it a shake. "Papa?"

"Yes, Walther?"

After receiving a very _broad hint_, they had named the youngest one "Walther" after Wolfram's uncle—an honor that the older Mazoku took to heart. Now, Yuuri and Wolfram's only problem was that "Uncle Walt" and "Little Walt" were thick as thieves, shared secrets, and had many adventures together. And to make sure that the other two boys didn't feel left out, enormous spice cakes, boxes of candy, toys, and other presents were constantly making their way from Bielefeld.

"Papa," Walther lisped, "… ya mad?"

Wolfram frowned, turning his face away. "Well…"

"We were just playing mud wielder!" Jonathan chimed in from behind his baby brother, so proud of himself.

"And I'm going to be the best!" Nathan bustled in, always competitive with his brother. For, Jonathan was, due to age, "the heir" and Nathan was called "the spare."

"Walt, too!" the little one insisted, not wanting to be left out. Even covered in mud, he still had a way about him—an elfin charm that Wolfram, himself, had when he was little. No wonder their youngest child was called "the debonair" and was favored by Waltorana.

"Mud wielder?" Wolfram shook his head incredulously at that. "Who told you of such a thing?"

"YOZAK!" All three boys pointed the way the castle spy had gone. He was their hero.

"Eh-h-h-h?" He blinked at it all and then Wolfram carefully gritted his teeth into a smile—furious. "Well, then… Yozak…who has never wielded an ounce of magic in his life…and I need to have a little talk."

"Um, Wolf?" Yuuri interrupted, fanning the air around them.

"Yes?" But it was barked out a little more than he'd like in front of the boys.

"You're smoking… I mean, literally…" Yuuri swallowed thickly. "You know, we agreed you wouldn't do that in front of the boys. It's not good for them." He leaned into Wolfram's ear and whispered, "Considering their past…and especially if any of them become fire wielders or something."

The blond leaned back and tried to relax the tension away. "They'll probably be earth wielders…coming from my brother's lands… And they have his coloring, too."

Another little shake from the pudgy hand. "Papa?"

"Yes, Walt?" Wolfram said, trying not to sigh the child's name. This was becoming a long day already and the morning wasn't even over with.

The child tugged at his trousers with a deepening pout, lower lip stuck out. "Got mud in my pants. Kinda feels like I got poopie plops in my underwear."

With that, Wolfram stood up, rod straight and took his child's hand. He said lowly, "Little princelings do not say 'poopie plops'. Now, let's go into the castle." He looked at the other boys and raised his voice, "BATH! Everyone takes a bath now!" He gestured with his head toward the castle. "Now! March, soldiers!"

Jonathan and Nathan saluted cutely. And, with that, the two older boys marched, then walked swiftly toward the baths. At first, they were just following Papa's orders. But, Nathan ran a little faster than Jonathan and the older brother didn't like it. Soon, it was an all out race with mud flying from their hair, shoes, and clothes.

Splatters and footprints.

Servants ducked away.

Wolfram covered his eyes with his hand. Did he really need to go through this? Really? A tug on his hand. Green eyes looked down. Muddy little Walt was smiling up at him with a full set of baby teeth.

"You, too. Off to the tub."

They walked swiftly toward the castle. Little Walt's legs scrambling to keep up with each of Wolfram's steps. And every once in awhile, he'd tug at his muddy britches with his free hand, doing a dance. "So, Papa… What do little princelings say when they've actually got poopie plops in their undies?"

Wolfram groaned a nonsensical answer.

And Yuuri laughed at him, following from behind.

And life was a wonderful thing.


	22. Chapter 22

…EXTRA…

.

.

The Days Which Followed

.

A folded sheet of paper and a tarnished button were placed back into the end table drawer and closed.

Lightning flashed through the narrow gap in the curtains and Yuuri pulled the covers around his cold shoulders a little bit tighter. Ordinarily, a storm wouldn't bother him, but this one did. His eyes drifted to the door and, with a sigh, he tried to close his eyes and will himself to sleep.

The wind picked up with a raspy breath, suddenly rattling the doors to the balcony and there was a sound like gravel hitting against something. His brain slowly pieced together that there had to be some hail mixed in with the rain. The double black hoped that the local crops would be able to tolerate it. If not, there would be hard times ahead. But he didn't want to think about that. He would cross that bridge if and when he'd come to it. But that was his philosophy about ruling the kingdom—deal with things when they come. Worry never gave an ounce of comfort.

And, certainly, no sleep…which was why he went back to staring at the canopy above his bed.

No good.

He rolled over onto his side. Again.

Through the gap between the bedroom door and the floor, Yuuri could make out feet trudging back and forth in the hallway. A pair made their way forward and the bedroom door opened with a soft, wooden groan.

"Wolf?"

Wolfram, drenched from the storm, entered and made a short, sweeping gesture. The candle on the blond's side of the bed flickered into life. And Yuuri squinted at it.

"Yes," Wolfram said distractedly, blond hair plastered down and uniform thoroughly soaked to the skin, clinging to him.

The double black pushed himself up in bed to see him better. "Wolf, why didn't you take a bath to warm up? You look so miserable right now. You'll probably catch cold if you don't."

"No thanks," he said and reached into the closet. There was a white hand towel in with his wooden bucket of bath things. He took that and dried his limp hair. A good shimmy with it made him only slightly less damp-looking and fuzzy at the tip ends of his hair. "I just really wanted to come home. And when the storm started, half way from the temple, I decided to keep pushing on…moving forward…so that I could sleep next to you tonight." Wolfram shivered and began searching the closet for his favorite pink nightie.

"My pajamas," Yuuri said in the tone that meant "no arguments." He pointed to the dresser. "Take the light blue pair. They're warmer."

The blond hesitated for only a moment—not wanting to take Yuuri's things. Besides, the pair he mentioned had black piping along the edges and was made for a maou, not a consort. But, to Yuuri, he knew, such things were inconsequential at best and seen as silly at worst. Involuntarily, the blond shivered again as he went to fetch the pajamas from the top drawer.

"So, what did Murata want at the temple?" Yuuri asked as his husband shed his clothing. The jacket fell with a distracting, wet "_sh-lop_" to the floor. "You know, for some reason, it seemed like he wanted to run an idea by you."

Murata had sent a pigeon over to the castle after lunchtime and Wolfram, with a suspicious eyebrow raised, reluctantly agreed to go. After taking tea with Greta, Yuuri followed his husband to the stables, gave a quick kiss, and watched Wolfram leave on his white steed.

There hadn't been a cloud in the sky back then.

Lightning flashed and rain splattered harder.

"So, what…_exactly_… was it, Wolf?"

Abruptly, Wolfram turned around, still shoving his arms into the pajama top. Then, he stepped widely over the wet pile he'd made, water spreading out lazily on the stone floor. "Let me tell you something, Yuuri," he fumed unexpectedly, making the double black surprised at him, "that bastard can really get to me sometimes!"

"Whoa…" Yuuri was now sitting up fully in the bed, his head cocked curiously. "What happened?"

"That idiot," Wolfram growled, "wanted us to suddenly drop what we're doing and go on a hunt for a book in a stuffy old bookshop somewhere in the von Christ lands because it can teach you a spell on how to trace an enemy by using the astral plane." Stiffly, he began buttoning up the top, but his icy fingers were refusing to work as well as they usually did. "And, you know, he doesn't know exactly where it is, either. So, guess what?" the blond went on sarcastically, "He wants us to all go gallivanting around like we have all the time in the world." Angrily, Wolfram shook his head at that, making his hair frizz even more.

"So, uh…what did you say?" But Yuuri had no doubts about it.

Wolfram's face hardened. "I told him to go fuck himself."

Yuuri's eyes popped open at that. Wolfram rarely cursed.

"Yuuri," Wolfram growled, thinking that his husband was disagreeing with him, "in three days, we are celebrating Greta's birthday. Three! Days!" He counted off on his fingers. "We've got the cake, the flowers, the ribbons, the presents, guests are already arriving…"

"I know," Yuuri agreed in a calming voice, trying to lower the volume a little. But pacifying Wolfram was very hard sometimes.

The blond pointed in the direction of Shinou's Temple—angry and offended at it all. "They can't tell me what to do… Not The Great Sage, not Shinou, not those blasted temple maidens…!" He approached the bed, eyes shining with passion. "Greta, our Greta, is human. And I know that humans on Earth live until they are eighty or ninety…maybe, one hundred… But, in Shin Makoku, they typically live until they are sixty." He looked down for a second. "Had I been born human, I would be safely in my grave by now."

Wolfram wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. But, this time, Yuuri wasn't certain if it was the cold that made him do that.

Wolfram's voice grew low: "It's not like with the boys. We don't have centuries… We have, maybe, decades with her… Maybe… So, every birthday, to me, is precious and irreplaceable…a time to celebrate that we still have her."

Wolfram fingered idly with the black hoop in his left ear as he spoke—a habit he'd developed not long after he'd gotten it.

One month before the wedding, Waltorana von Bielefeld sent a formal letter to his nephew, the consort-to-be. It had just happened to arrive when the blond was in a meeting with Yuuri, Gwendal, Günter, and Conrad finalizing plans on security for the honeymoon. Instead of the usual pigeon, a majestic trumpeter swan flew through the window and offered up a message on its leg, wrapped in the blue ribbons of the House of von Bielefeld. Once the message was taken, the winged-creature flew through the open window to a more comfortable venue: the castle moat.

Wolfram, gave everyone a quick glance, and then scanned the message, nodding as he went. "Agreed," was all he said.

Yuuri didn't understand the ceremony at the time, but two weeks before the wedding, everyone in the wedding party made a brief trip to Bielefeld Castle. The white chapel was decorated with ribbons, flowers, sticks of burning incense, a blue carpeted isle, and a lone, high-backed chair facing the altar. Yuuri marveled at it all, craning his head to look at the ceiling where bouquets of dried herbs were hanging down, while Günter dutifully guided him by the arm to his official place to stand. The double black turned to the side as he watched Wolfram enter with his mother, in a dark blue gown—which seemed to annoy Waltorana—and his older brothers following a few steps behind. They took their seats (as did Yuuri, as king and husband-to-be). A priestess wearing a shimmering silver and blue gown accompanied by a lavender-haired healer in a white pantsuit came forward, speaking words in Old Mazoku—which The Maou, within, seemed to understand even if Yuuri didn't.

And then, from a brown, woven basket at the front of the chapel, a small bag of ice and a large needle were produced and held up high for all to see.

"What are they doing?" Yuuri quickly hissed to Günter. But, before his advisor could respond, they had taken Wolfram's ear and pierced it. The blond didn't seem to respond. Not even a flinch, head held high. And when a black metal hoop was blessed and brought forth, he waited calmly for them to insert it.

The double black cringed. "Just like that? Ouch, Wolf."

The healer cupped her hands around his ear. Then, a green healing glow shined out from between her fingers and, within a matter of moments, the small, metal hoop became one continuous ring of metal in Wolfram's ear and the hole was healed entirely.

He would never be able to remove it.

"Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld," Waltorana said majestically as he faced his nephew with a glowing pride no one had witnessed in decades, "the circle is complete. You may now stand in the presence of your family and fiancé."

Wolfram stood, chin up and shoulders back.

"Congratulations!" his uncle said, eyes glowing with pride. And everyone in the room clapped. Greta came forward, gave an excited cheer, and tossed a handful of magnolia leaves at him for luck.

Günter sniffed a little into his ivory, lace hankie. "A beautiful ceremony." He turned to the double black. "Now, the von Bielefeld family has officially handed him over to you. Well, technically, his body belongs to you. So, now, the wedding is just a formality…a party, if you will."

Yuuri stared incredulously at Günter. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" He didn't want to feel like he owned Wolfram. He wanted to be together but with something more akin to companionship and equality.

"Oh?" the lilac haired advisor said, sniffing again. "You mean you don't have such ceremonies on Earth? That's entirely too bad."

Yuuri looked to his right and saw Wolfram standing there—lightly fingering his black hoop earring. "So, Yuuri," he asked with a slight hesitation, "do you…like it?" This was more than a question about fashion. Wolfram seemed to feel uncertain about his fiancé's feelings about the ceremony. And, should Yuuri act out now or behave in a way that was unexpected, Wolfram would never be able to live it down.

And he had just been so proud only moments before.

No, this was Wolfram's day, he decided. He wouldn't ruin it.

"Stop looking so worried, Wolf," Yuuri said as he brushed blond hair away so that he could see the small earring better. "This is really kind of cool."

"Then, you're really fine with it?" he asked quietly, hope rising in his voice.

Hope. He could give Wolfram that.

Black eyes met uncertain green ones. "Yeah, I am."

A shiver.

Wolfram stood before him, fingering the black hoop in his ear—his mind occupied. The consort blinked back into the moment when Yuuri pulled away the covers and said, "Get in. You're still shivering and I don't want you sick. So, no arguments…get in. Okay?"

The blond nodded, noting that Yuuri was now on his side of the bed. "I still think your best friend is a total prick, though."

"Yes, yes," Yuuri soothed, pulling the blankets over them both. "And, to make things easier, I'll have a talk with Murata tomorrow…explain everything." Yuuri raised himself up on his elbow, leaned over, and raked his fingers through damp, blond hair and then grasped his fingers around the hoop which was frigid to the touch, slowly warming it. "And, after that, if you want…I'll go looking for the book with him and you can stay here."

"_No way_," he breathed as a shiver. "I'm coming…just not now. Not this week." He shifted in the bed so that he could look Yuuri in the eye. "Get it?"

"Yeah, I do," the double black agreed, gently pushing Wolfram onto his back. He was half on top of him, trying to spread as much warmth from his body as he could give. "Y-Yuuri?" Wolfram's face softened, looking up into him—green eyes, deep and liquid—so full of emotion. The blond wrapped his arms around Yuuri's neck, arching up and into him. The double black's mind flicked to the days before their wedding. They still had little more than a kissing relationship back then. For some reason, it seemed to satisfy both Wolfram and The Maou within himself. Soft touches and wrapping an arm around the other's waist gave the greatest comfort most of the time. But, Yuuri secretly worried about what to do on his wedding night. He suspected that he'd feel the same way even if Wolfram had been born a woman.

Simply not knowing could be a terrifying thing, he soon discovered. The double black feared "awkward" more than he feared failure. And avoiding well-intentioned advice from Gissela, Lady Cheri, and—worst of all, Conrad (Gulp!)—didn't help matters. Yuuri had to make sure that, before the wedding, he was never alone with any of them. And that was tough.

Sneaking into the "adult" section of the library late at night was no easy matter, either, but was his best chance of learning what he needed to know without making an unexpected, and unwelcomed by Wolfram, trip to Earth. On the first night that he'd tried it, Yuuri noticed three books on the shelf that seemed good but not scandalous. _Mastering the Loving Basics Part II, Anatomical Positions and Mazoku Magic: Getting the Greatest Pleasure, _and_ Winning the Heart, Body, and Soul_. Yuuri really liked that last one. Yes, a good title. He'd read it first.

He cracked open the book and began thumbing through it. "Oh, joy," he murmured sarcastically, "it's got pictures." He furrowed his brow as he twisted the book in his hands to an odd angle to see better, "What is this? Yoga?"

"Yuuri?"

The double black put a hand to his chest, heart thumping way too hard. _Oh, Hell!_ He had no idea that Wolfram had followed him and no idea what, exactly, his fiancé would do now.

Wolfram, wearing his white bathrobe to cover up the pink nightie, suddenly appeared before the desk. His hair was disheveled and he stifled a yawn. "Yuuri? What are…?" The blond turned his head to the side, reading the titles of the books. His eyes grew wider and wider with each one. He picked up _Anatomical Positions_ and practically choked on his saliva just from reading the purple, glittery cover. "Yuuri…what the hell?"

Instinct told him to cower back into his chair. "Well," the double black began nervously, feeling as though he'd just been caught with porn. And it wasn't porn, exactly. He was just seeking advice from experts. That was all. And his wedding was coming up. And people do those kinds of things on their wedding night, don't they? Nobody has a platonic wedding night, right?

Yuuri shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. And The Maou gave a hearty laugh from within. "Shut up," he hissed.

"What?"

"Uhhh…nothing?" the double black gritted his teeth into a pained grin.

Wolfram tossed the book back onto the desk like a Frisbee and folded his arms defensively. "Were you trying to see what you're in for…so you could talk yourself out of it? Or even the wedding…?" He fingered the hoop in his ear.

Yuuri frowned and stood up from the desk. "I was just curious. Can't I be curious?" What was wrong with that? It was the truth. "It wasn't like I preferred these etchings over you." He gestured to his small collection of books.

A glare from Wolfram was his only answer as the blond stalked out of the room, disgruntled. And Yuuri, for the first time in their relationship, felt heartsick at that. Was Wolfram mad? Disappointed? Dissatisfied with those answers? It was impossible to tell. And then Yuuri realized, in what seemed to be a reoccurring epiphany, that his once determined fiancé had doubts. But not just about the wedding. But about how serious he was concerning their future together.

Maybe, they had not built as much trust and understanding as he'd thought.

But, instead of staying away from the library, Yuuri did just the opposite. He decided to study more, to study harder. For once, he wanted to learn.

From one book, Yuuri found out that most fire wielders had stubborn natures, short tempers, and fiery spirits. (No big surprise there.) They were supposedly sexually aggressive and promiscuous, too, and many erotic novels had been written about them. Water magic, when used against them in battle, could not only do major physical damage but sap their emotional strength as well. Another book preached that fire wielders and water wielders should never marry. They were simply too different. (Yuuri decided to flat out ignore that piece of advice.) While still another old tome that Yuuri felt The Maou had drawn him to in the library encouraged handholding, gentle kisses on the knuckles, and tender words of admiration when the chaperone wasn't looking. In the marriage bed, the person who was higher in status would always be the instigator and would always be the "lion." Yuuri had no idea what was meant by "lion," so he decided to let that go. Besides, he had his own general notion about the way things should be between them.

The royal wedding was, as Günter had predicted, a beautiful party with bright pink roses from the garden, blue and black ribbons, piles of presents, and a gigantic seven tiered cake covered in white frosting roses. A fine celebration of two becoming one. But Wolfram had been Yuuri's a full fortnight before that. The black hoop in his ear was noticed by everyone who admired him at the reception. It was a clear indication that he was successful—for von Bielefelds always marked their achievements with jewelry of some sort—and that, by the black color, he belonged to the country's maou.

With an unwavering voice, Yuuri had said, "As maou of Shin Makoku, I take thee as my spouse" and the ring was placed on Wolfram's finger. But, as they readied Yuuri's wedding ring to be placed on his finger, Wolfram had just enough time to play with his small hoop earring with a smile coming to him.

And Yuuri thought it was cute.

But, the wedding night made Yuuri more than anxious. He was on edge and could feel his heart thumping in his chest unmercifully. It was hard to take. To make things worse, Wolfram had been talking to him casually- as though it had been a typical night. Nothing special. He'd hung up his blue dress uniform on hangers and was in his black thong, now, searching in the closet for something to wear to bed.

Back still turned to him, the blond had been saying something—talking to him—but the words were slipping through Yuuri's mind like sand. Yuuri, dressed in his new pajamas, forced himself to focus. This was not the way to be.

He blinked up into green eyes. Far too close to him.

"Are you okay, Yuuri? I was saying 'thank you' for the new ring you gave me. The Maou's Tear ring that was wrapped up in bows on the dresser, you know?"

The double black leaned away, surprised, until he noticed the ring Wolfram was showing him on his forefinger. He'd placed it on the same hand as his wedding ring. Wolfram wriggled his fingers and his new jewelry caught the light and shined.

The Maou's Tear ring. A gift from The Maou himself. Yuuri felt a bit of smugness from within and a "Thou art welcome."

"Uh…Yeah…"

Yuuri put a hand behind his head and chuckled to show that he was fine. No big deal. He could handle tonight. He'd managed to speed read a few books at the last moment and he thought he had the basic theories of "How to do it" down. But, now…in practice…

"Okay," the blond said flatly, but knowing that Yuuri really was not okay. He pointed to the bed. "By the way, The Great Sage has given you a wedding gift. He said to open it tonight so…"

On the royal bed, which was decorated with red rose petals on the shimmering, satiny-white sheets, there was an oversized box. It was wrapped in pale blue paper with a black bow on top. The young king eyed it suspiciously. This was from Murata, after all. As he came closer, he noticed a card. With trepidation, he opened the envelope with Wolfram peeking over his shoulder. Never mind that it was written in Japanese and the blond couldn't fathom the words. It was probably curiosity that made Wolfram stand by his elbow right now.

"Well?" he asked and Yuuri swallowed thickly.

"It says…uhhh… 'A gift for you but the Royal Consort should wear it'. I don't know what that means, though."

Wolfram, still only in his black thong, sat on the bed with a bounce. A large box—a big present—was such a curious thing. He had to know what was inside. "May I open it, then?"

An uneasy smile. "S-Sure."

Slim fingers gently unfolded the paper out of respect for the gift and The Great Sage, Yuuri's best friend. The crinkling of the paper was about to drive Yuuri insane but he held himself in check, waiting, until the white gift box was gently slid forward.

The tip end of Wolfram's pink tongue darted from the corner of his mouth in anticipation as he opened the box and fluffed away the paper within.

Yuuri almost fainted when Wolfram pulled out a pair of black cat ears, a long tail, leather short-shorts, long gloves, and a net halter top. The blond placed each article of clothing across the bed and, then, laughed at them.

He gave his new husband a double take. "What's the matter?"

Yuuri gave him a blank stare.

"Yuuri," Wolfram said, resting a hand against his hip in a knowing way, "this is clearly a wedding night joke. It's tradition here."

"It…_is_?" The double black felt only a bit better at that.

Wolfram nodded at it and seemed to mirror Günter for a second, when he was lecturing on the history of Shin Makoku and felt that his information was absolutely right. "Plus, seeing a cat on your wedding day is considered good luck. Their eye-shine was once considered to be the highest level of magic possible…a legend now, of course."

The blond almost reverently returned the costume to the box, but not without pretending to try on the cat ears. He noticed a smile coming from Yuuri and decided that the traditional "wedding night joke" really did break the tension between them. And that felt good.

With the box on the dresser, the blond turned and asked, "Do you want to go to bed now?" He took Yuuri by the hand, leading him in the right direction. "You're probably tired. You've had a long day."

The double black walked stiffly behind his new spouse. And some part of his mind was still trying to accept that he was no longer single, would be forever married to his favorite fire Mazoku, and that this was his wedding night.

Oh, yeah…and Wolfram was a _guy_.

"Those black silk pajamas look good on you," the blond said with a side glance. "I think I'm just going to stay as I am for tonight." Wolfram took Yuuri to his side of the bed, pulled back the covers, and practically tucked him in like a child with one of the kisses that Yuuri seemed so fond of—a ticklish kiss on the nose.

He wrinkled at it but smiled.

Then, Wolfram walked around the bed to his own side, got in, and smiled. "It was a beautiful wedding," he said a little dreamily. "Mother did an excellent job."

"Yeah," Yuuri agreed.

And, with that, Wolfram rolled over onto his side, snapped his fingers, and the room went dark.

The bed felt bigger than usual. A little lonely, really. The double black found himself frowning a little at that. Wolfram had made this entirely too easy for him. No expectations. No demands. And no encouragement, either. Worst of all, all of his studying would go to waste—all of it for their sakes—if he didn't do something.

Just pluck up the courage.

And, so, he did.

Yuuri crawled across the bed and spooned up next to Wolfram, getting a surprised, "Y-Yuuri?" in the dark. The double black placed his arm behind Wolfram's head, making a pillow of it and making the blond raise his chin. Receiving a fluttering kiss as he did so. It grew into something more relaxed between them, more intimate than the other kisses they'd shared before. And, as they did so, Yuuri felt the need to explore—which Wolfram granted—to allow as much or as little affection as Yuuri was capable of giving. And Yuuri soon realized that his fears of Wolfram, of being close to him, were all unfounded. Wolfram was never a sexual deviant or was aggressive in bed. He would never have hurt in a way like that.

Being together mattered. Being held mattered—even if it was just holding hands. Or like, on this night, something more.

Lightning flashed through the window again, illuminating the pale features of the blond lying with him. Wolfram's arms were still placed around Yuuri's neck, fingers laced together. Green eyes grew soft once more. Damp hair fell away from his face. He arched upward, lips parted slightly. The hint of a pink tongue.

And shivered.

Yuuri chuckled to himself, pulled Wolfram into a tight embrace, and said, "You're exhausted and freezing cold. Come here." And, with that, he lightly pushed Wolfram down and rolled his body half on top of the blond. Yuuri's finger traced a small heart against the pajama top.

A soft peck on the cheek.

Yuuri closed his eyes, content now with a sigh proving it to Wolfram, and all too soon, sleep took the double black. Soft, even breaths.

Wolfram felt neither disappointment nor anger that his intentions were rejected. Then again, in a way, it wasn't rejection so much as it was a postponement. Yuuri was doing what was best. Wolfram knew that. And, with gratitude, the blond melted appreciatively into the warmth that Yuuri offered from his body. The fire wielder in him craved it, nuzzled close, and drank in the feeling, for it was offered out of love and affection.

A wry smile. Finally, by some miracle, he had it. Love. And Shibuya Wolfram vowed to never take it for granted.

This was why he'd traveled through the miserable, freezing rain. For this. For a warmth only the two of them could make. That only the two of them could share with each other. And that feeling made everything worthwhile.

He was so insanely lucky.

"Thank you, Yuuri."

.

.

-THE END-


End file.
